Exile's Return
by TheWabbajackX
Summary: (Warcraft 3) With the Legion's grip at the world's throat, the Alliance and Horde enter a desperate gambit to sail to the forgotten Kalimdor. The threat of death for many offers a second chance at freedom for another. A man lost from the world for ten thousand years now finds himself back in it, the familiar land twisted and different. His redemption will be a hard earned battle.
1. Landfall

The world of Azeroth teetered on the brink of destruction.

The proud Alliance kingdoms of Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas burned and decayed as they were choked by the undead Scourge and their Burning Legion masters. The humans had been the first to fall, their farmland and roving forests been rotted away by the fallen prince Arthas Menethil, indoctrinated to the will of the Lich King. The high elf lands were next to fall, its regal inhabitants facing extinction as they struggled without their precious Sunwell. The revered paladin Uther the Lightbringer. The wise archmagus Antonidas. The Silvermoon king Anasterian Sunstrider. Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner. Even his own father, King Terenas II. All were laid before the death knight's feet, their corpses consumed and repurposed by the dead. Their spirits and many others were trapped within the cursed Frostmourne, damned to eternal enslavement for as long as it remained.

Farther south, the remaining human kingdom of Stormwind and its dwarven ally Ironforge readied its defenses and sent aid to any surviving Alliance forces in the Lordaeron-Quel'Thalas area. However, with the loss of Lordaeron, Silvermoon, and Dalaran, the resistance movement to take back the lost land was now a struggle to blockade the undead from advancing any farther down. Only Stromgarde, Kul Tiras, and Gilneas survived. The former cities were out at sea and out of reach from the Scourge, and the latter held back the undead with the enormous wall erected by Genn Greymane and the arrival of the mysterious worgen skulking the Silverpine countryside. Lordaeron was lost, and the humans' only chance for survival was to the west.

Obeying the final order of her teacher, the young magus Jaina Proudmoore led a force of Kul Tiras and forces from other kingdoms across the sea as a mysterious prophet had warned. The sea proved to be just as unrelenting as the Scourge, with Jaina and her soldiers facing threats from pirates, storms, naga, and the Maelstrom itself. Against immense odds and decreasing morale, the Alliance survivors reached the ancient land of Kalimdor. They had made landfall on a small island off the coast of an enormous marshland, fog and trees caking the land. Rain fell from the dreary grey sky, providing a bittersweet welcome for the new arrivals. Despite this, the Alliance survivors were tired and low on supplies. The island would operate as a temporary haven for the time being. At least until they had accumulated enough supplies to continue to more accommodating lands.

A makeshift camp had been made in a small clearing on the island, between a large cluster of trees and a small cave nearby. The peasants worked diligently to harvest lumber and rock. While the work was tough, the cool rain falling onto their faces made the work bearable. Some of the lumber had been fashioned into a pen to hold the animals in. The beasts had been cooped up inside the hull of the transport ship for so long that Jaina felt them deserving of a reprieve. The cows, pigs, sheep, and chickens were eager to stretch their legs and take in the fresh swamp air. Infantrymen were gathered around their tents and fires, discussing amongst themselves the fate of their homeland and what had brought them to such a mysterious land.

Jaina stood along the edge of the island, watching the treeline on the horizon. The mage couldn't even begin to imagine what it was the prophet had in store for them here. She could not deny the enormous power she had felt resonate off of him when he had spoken to Arthas and Antonidas, but the odds had been enormously stacked against her with no plan of her own. With most of the human kingdoms back home having been destroyed and no way to contact the surviving ones, the young woman had no backup and barely a plan. Uther and Antonidas were dead, and her beloved Arthas had befallen to the Scourge. Her heart ached for them as well as for her father back home. Were he here with her, they would have more concrete structure in this desperate gamble. But he was not, and she was left alone to cobble together a plan while voyaging blindly through this forgotten land. Jaina's specialty was magic, not politics or warfare. And now she found herself in a spot where she needed both desperately.

 _Father, I wish I had your wise counsel. I can conjure spells, incinerate the undead, and teleport across great spans. But leading an army? This is too much… I wish you were here, Father. Antonidas. Uther. Arthas…_

"Lady Proudmoore?" The mage turned to face the soldier at her side, saluting her. Clad in simple plate armor with blue furnishing, like the rest of the Lordaeron units. She gave him a smile and nodded, thankful to have her thoughts of Arthas interrupted.

"At ease, soldier," she said, running a finger along her chin. "Forgive me. I didn't catch your name. I've been preoccupied of late." She gave an awkward chuckle. The Kirin Tor had fostered great magical prowess within her. Not much in the way of people skills.

"So have we all, ma'am," the soldier said. "Commander Halford Wyrmbane. Anything I can do to be of assistance?"

"Some conversation would be nice," Jaina said hopingly.

"I can assist you in that regard," Halford said. "Unsure how good I'll be. Not much of a conversationalist."

"Well, I'm not much of a leader, so I guess we're both out of our element," Jaina joked. The two shared a brief laugh and gazed out at the treeline. The haze of fog hung along the horizon like a spectre. Hardly anything could be made out through the misty curtain.

"Kalimdor," Halford said. "Not quite what I was expecting."

"I had imagined the homeland of the high elves to look a lot less dreary," Jaina confessed. Not even remotely did it resemble the great Eversong Woods. Lacking even a spec of color that wasn't some drab muted green or sludgy brown. "I suppose a lot can change in ten thousand years."

"The high elves don't seem to recognize this place," Halford said. "Spoke with some of them on arrival, and they say their ancestors spoke of large colorful forests of green and purple."

"Seeing a lot of the green," Jaina joked. "Although, it's a rather… it's certainly a type of green, I will say that." The mage wrinkled her nose as though the green elicited some foul odor.

"Heh. Right," Halford replied. "Forgive me for saying so, ma'am, but I don't like this place. All this fog and the eerie silence. And I hate not knowing what we're up against." A soldier's greatest weapon was his sight. Metaphorically speaking. The faint traces of white beyond the borders of their island reminded him of ghosts. And Halford had obtained his fill of undead back in Lordaeron.

"Fear not, Commander," Jaina said. "We won't be staying here for too long. Just here to gather supplies, and we'll sail further north along the coast." That was the plan, anyway. "Have our scouts reported anything?"

"It's marshland as far as the eye can see," Halford stated simply. "Spotted a few crocolisks and spiders, but no wild game to hunt. And very few edible plants save for some roots and tubers." The mage let out a glum sigh.

 _You sure picked the place to set up camp,_ _Jaina,_ she thought to herself.There would be little benefits to garner from in this strange land, it seemed. "How are our remaining food rations?"

"About a month's worth of supplies," Halford said. "Even with the livestock taken into account. Don't suppose you could just conjure up some bread and water."

"If things become desperate, such a thing can be done," Jaina said. "But conjured food is nowhere near as nutritious as actual prepared food. We'd be fed but receive no protein or vitamins. We'd grow weak."

"A weak army is no army," Halford said. "I'll order the scouts to double their efforts." The sound of someone clearing their throat reached their ears, coming from behind. The two turned, the top of a head appearing on the bottom edge of their eyes. Jaina looked down and saw a dwarven priest wearing white and orange robes with matching shoulderpads and gloves. A long white beard hung from his face and a ponytail on the back of his head.

"Madame Proudmoore," the priest said with a bow. His accent was quite gruff to the ears, but a calming aura resonated within his thick accent.

"Greetings, High Priest," she said while offering a bow. The old dwarf merely chuckled, slapping his knee.

"Please," he said. "Just "Rohan" will do. None a fan a' them fancy titles. We done finished th' chapel. Or at least that's wot we call 'er." High Priest Rohan had been the top practicing and oldest priest trainer in Ironforge, having been deployed to Lordaeron to quell the Scourge threat. The old dwarf had found himself in over his head, even with his holy magic at work. While he could not admit it out of the need to preserve his dwarven pride, Lordaeron was a losing battle. The fight against the Scourge could not have been won here. So when Jaina had begun scouring the Lordaeron coastlines for survivors, Rohan rounded up his fellow clergymen and sailed for Kalimdor.

"Very good, Rohan," Jaina said with a smile. "The men could use a good morale boost."

"The Light will lead us to victory in this land," Halford said staunchly.

"Amen, brother," Rohan said. A second dwarf stepped up, falling in line beside Rohan. He had blue goggles and a long black beard. A keg of gunpowder was strapped to his back, and a clipboard sat in his hand.

"Lady Proudmoore," he said. "We did sum explorin' ah' th' nearby mine."

"What did you find, foreman?" Jaina asked.

"She be a sparse one," the foreman. "We reckon we'll git a day's supplies out of 'er fore she dries up."

"And how well are we doing on stone currently?" she asked.

"Nary a lot," the foreman said. "Nah way we can make a fortress out of our meager supplies."

"Damn," Jaina cursed. "We'll need to find another mine."

"I'll sent scouts on it right away, ma'am," Halford said, saluting before marching off.

"Well, keep digging up what you can," Jaina said. The foreman nodded before turning and waddling back to his mine. "As for you, Rohan…." She scratched her head as she thought over orders. "Eh, have yourself a mug of ale." He pumped his fists into the air victoriously.

"Fantastic idea, lassie!" the priest cheered. Jaina held a hand to her mouth, a soft giggle slipping out.


	2. The Return

A gryphon landed in front of Jaina's tent, the gusts of wind causing the fabric to jostle in the mind. The Wildhammer dwarf hopped off his flying companion and marched towards Lady Proudmoore, having emerged from within to investigate. The dwarf gave a salute to which Jaina responded with a bow.

"Report, soldier," she stated.

"Commander Wyrmbane found an unusual find a ways up north," he said. "Big lookin' ruin built over a migh'y cave. Roots tangled all o'er wot looks like a big door."

"A ruin, you say?" Jaina asked, curiosity in her voice. Their priority was to find a cave to excavate for stone, but Jaina did love studying things, no matter what they were. "Any other caves?"

"One be farther up north," the gryphon rider said. "But she be a ways away. This cave be much closer."

"Hmm," Jaina said, running a finger over her chin in contemplation. "Perhaps we can take a chance with this ruin."

"Some ah th' sorceresses took a scryin' rune of 'er," the dwarf said, retrieving a parchment from his satchel. Jaina took it from him and unrolled it, seeing a glowing blue rune inscribed onto the paper. "Wyrmbane wanted yeh t'see 'er in person."

"Impressive ingenuity," Jaina said, smiling with satisfaction. "Any other unusual finds?"

"Nothin' buh a few large spiders and fungal beasts out in the wilds," the dwarf said. "An' sum black dragons to the south."

"Black dragons?" Jaina inquired. Giant spiders and plant monsters were one thing, but dragons? She had heard of the dragons' ferocity from veterans of the Second War, describing orc soldiers flying through the air on their scaly backs and incinerating the countryside. "Perhaps it would be best to avoid the southern part of the marsh for now." The dwarf nodded in agreement. "Locate our scouting forces and tell them to return. If you will excuse me, I must head to see this ruin. I'll open a portal once I arrive. Have some men on standby to help investigate."

"Aye," the dwarf said, saluting. Wiggling her fingers over the parchment caused it to begin glowing. Jaina could feel the location of where the parchment had been scryed in her mind. Purple energy manifested itself around her hands, and her body dematerialized. A blinding light encased her but quickly dissipated. Jaina found herself standing before a large cave, closed off by an ancient stone gate with gnarled roots ensnaring it.

"Antonidas' beard," she said under her breath. Commander Wyrmbane and his force of footmen saluted her, and she respectfully bowed. High elf sorceresses ran their hands over the stone, their hands glowing as they did so. The roots were slowly being burned and hacked away at. "Report your findings, Commander."

"All of what we knew had been relayed from the gryphon rider," Halford said. "No such luck on getting it open however. But we believe we have an identity for it." A high elf priest fell into place beside Halford.

"Madame Proudmoore, the design of this stone is clearly one of kaldorei origin," he said.

"Curious," Jaina said. The high elves had spoken of the kaldorei at times, but information on them jealously guarded. They were described to be purple and closely connected to magic, but that was the extent of what was shared. All that was majorly known was that the kaldorei exiled the high elves' ancient ancestors, the Highborne, over ten thousand years ago. But they would refuse to speak of them. "This presents a rare opportunity to learn of an ancient Azeroth race. Who knows what we can find inside? Unknown magics to aid us against the Scourge or maybe even weapons."

"We ought to be cautious," Halford warned. "Could be anything inside." Jaina nodded in agreement. Her curiosity, no matter how intensely it burned, would not get the better of her good judgment.

"Open a portal to our camp," she ordered. "We'll need a sizable exploration force." The sorceresses broke off from their investigation of the runes, switching to open a way to and from camp. A blue portal was zapped into existence, and footmen began to come through. Jaina strode up the gate, pressing her soft hand against the rough stone. There seemed to be no latch or secret panel to open it. But such an obstacle would not deter the young mage. "Perhaps…"

Closing her eyes, she placed both palms onto the door and reached through it with her magic. Bright blue energy washed over the surface of the stone. Her mind became heavy, and shimmering waves of magic shot through her veins. The scrying spell allowed her to sense the door for anomalies. No mechanical devices were on the door that would open or close it. She could taste the tingle of a primordial essence on the door, indicating it had been sealed with magic. The essence could only be found on her side of the stone. It had been closed from outside.

But why? Had it been intended to be a storage room? A prison? Jaina was determined to find out. As she reached out further, she could feel the same ancient essence within the roots. These were not grown naturally but through strong magics. "I don't believe I'll be able to move it with these roots holding it." She backed away and returned to her soldiers' sides.

"I've never seen roots ingrown this bad," Halford said. "They're just plants. Shouldn't be this hard to hack them off."

"They're not naturally grown," Jaina said. "And it'll take too long to cut them down." She turned to look at Halford. "Any suggestions?"

"There's one surefire way to get through the door," he stated. "We could use a mortar team to blast it open. But the stone'll be damaged."

"Destroying an ancient ruin doesn't sound like my idea of progress, Commander," Jaina said flatly.

"With all due respect, ma'am, this is the simplest and fasted solution we got. I leave it up to your judgment." She sighed and ran a hand over her face. The young mage weighed the costs in her head, fretting over the idea of destroying a valuable structure as well as remembering their dwindling supplies.

"Had we more supplies and time, I could just wait it out," she confessed. "But time is of the essence. Blow the door open, Commander." Halford saluted and let out a sharp whistle. The pitter patter of two sets of feet grew louder as two dwarves approached. One was burly with a bronze beard, a set of explosives on his back and a large cannon tucked under his arm. A smaller dwarf was at his side, a white beard hanging from his face and a telescope in his hand.

"Set us up, boys," Halford said. The two dwarves saluted and rigged the cannon. It rested on a balance equipped with hinges and a swivel, allowing it to rotate and change directions. A rocket was loaded into the cannon, the barrel aimed right at the stone door.

"Ready and waitin', sir," the bronze bearded dwarf stated. Halford looked over to Jaina, who merely nodded.

"Fire!"

"MORTAR COMBAT!" The rocket whooshed through the air, smashing into the stone door with a deafening bang. The stone door collapsed into pieces, a cloud of dust rising from the explosion. The Alliance forces were sent into a coughing fit from the mix of dust and sulfur. All save the dwarves, who were naturally adjusted to the smell. As the dust settled, a dark void could be seen where the door used to be. No one could seem to make out what rested beyond the entrance. The mortar team cheered at the sight of the door having been reduced to rubble.

"Dwarves, one! Elves, zero!" the white haired dwarf cried out. Halford looked to his side to see Jaina enveloped in a purple mana bubble, wincing. She opened her left eye and saw the now exposed cave opening. With a sigh of relief, she dispersed the bubble. Her gaze shifted to Halford, standing there and looking at her.

"Um, sorry," she said awkwardly, her cheeks now carrying a twinge of pink to them. "Got a little nervous." Halford merely nodded and ordered his troops to move in. Two footmen grabbed their swords and torches as they stepped into the cave. Jaina and Halford walked towards the entrance, awaiting the return of the two footmen. After a minute, the two emerged from the cave.

"All clear," one of the footmen stated with a salute. "And plenty of stone to mine. Looks like we'll be set for a while from this cave."

"She goes fairly deep," the other footmen said. "Should we explore deeper, sir?"

"Fall in line, gentlemen," Jaina said, cutting off Halford before he could speak. "You will follow Commander Wyrmbane and I into the cave." The two footmen saluted. Peasants filed into the cave with pickaxes and carts, reading to strip the walls bare of mining material. Jaina looked to the soldier adorned in white and gold armor at her side. "Pardon my interruption."

"Quite alright, ma'am," he said earnestly. "I respect your taking initiative.

"Let's git on with it, then," a dwarven voice sounded behind them. The two turned to find High Priest Rohan.

"When did you get here, Rohan?" Jaina asked.

"Nary a second ago," the dwarf priest stated. "Had t' finish a sermon for the priesthood. Now I be ready t' go. Provided ye have me, of course, Lady Proudmoore."

"We could use a strong healer," Jaina said. "Just in case. Commander, call forth any others that might be useful." Halford nodded and pointed at a few select troops from the bunch. Three riflemen, a priest, two peasants, and a sorceress stepped forward. Jaina stepped over the broken pieces of stone and into the mouth of the cave. Torches had been planted in the dirt as peasants toiled, digging into the rock walls. With a wave of her fingers, Jaina summoned a tiny ball of light that floated near her. The young mage led the exploratory force deeper into the cave, the ball of light illuminating their way.

* * *

Jaina had led her regiment through the cave for nearly half an hour, the mage surprised at just how deep it spanned. Tons of rock lined the walls and ground, able to provide them stone for years to come. Provided they survive.

There were no additional ruins or structures within this cave, disappointing Jaina. She had hoped to find something to study while they trudged through this savage land but was thankful for an immense supply of stone for the Alliance survivors. There didn't seem to be much of anything save stone in the cave. No monsters or beasts of any kind skulked in the shadows, which greatly eased their minds. However, with nothing to look at but rock and shadow, boredom had begun to set in. It seemed as though they had seen all there was to see.

"Lady Proudmoore, perhaps we ought to return to camp," Halford suggested.

"Just a bit further," Jaina said. "Then I'll port us out. There has to be something in this cave besides rocks!" Her insistence rewarded her as she was greeted with a faint green glow at the end of the tunnel. "There!" The group hustled down the hall, rounding a bend. They were greeted by the spectacular sight of an enormous hunk of emerald jutting from the center of the cave. Jagged and thick, it stood twelve feet tall before them, almost touching the cave ceiling.

"By me own beard," Rohan inhaled.

"Beautiful," Jaina said, sparkles in her eyes.

"We're rich!" the mortar team shouted gleefully. The two peasants marched towards the gems, pickaxes in hand. Jaina stood before the hunk of emerald, staring at it in wonder.

"Amazing!" she gasped. "I've never seen emeralds this huge before!"

"Aye…" Rohan said, running his fingers through his beard. The mage looked down at him.

"Everything alright, high priest?"

"Sumthin's off, lassie," he said. "We dwarves haff been deeply connected to th' earth since our race's inception. When it comes to rocks and gems, we be knowin' our stuff. Especially when yeh be livin' in Ironforge. But this… this be off."

"Well, out with it, Rohan," Jaina said. "What's the problem?"

"Emeralds never grow t' be this big. Or glow, for that matter."

"So what are you saying?"

"That this nay be a natural formation. Were in natural, we'd 'ave seen emeralds linin' th' walls. This be isolated. Like she been planted." Jaina's gaze fell back onto the emeralds, narrowing her eyes at them. Her enthusiasm had evaporated into suspicion.

"Do you think it's dangerous?" she asked.

"I nay be sensin' any dark magics," Rohan said. "But yeh be the stronger magic user 'ere, lassie." She nodded and raised her right hand, which was enveloped in purple energy. Slowly, she approached the gem and placed her hand upon its surface. The green rock was smooth and cool against her palm. Her eyelids fell, and pressure on her eyes set in as she began to intently focus on analyzing the emerald. The same ancient essence she had felt on the door was inside the gems but way stronger. Nothing else in the area had the same energy emanating off it. It seemed to be the only rock of its kind within the cave.

 _Odd…_

She shut her eyes harder, pushing her scrying magic deeper within the thick rock. Jaina twitched as she felt something. Something faint coming from deeper inside. A thumping. Were she a lesser mage, she'd have missed it completely. The young woman focused intently on the faint thumping. Her eyes fluttered around in her head as she tried to decipher it. It was constant, never changing its pace. There was a rhythm to it. Two short thumps, a pause in between, and then two short thumps again. Almost like…

"A heartbeat!" she cried out, eyes opening.

"A heartbeat?" Halford repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"Something's alive in there!" she said, pointing at the emerald.

"Impossible," Rohan said.

"Rohan, you said it yourself. This isn't a natural formation. I sensed the same ancient essence on it that I felt on the stone door. Whoever put that there put this here."

"But fer sumthin' t' be alive inside tha' rock? It cannae be."

"What do you suggest, Lady Proudmoore?" Halford asked.

"We've got to open it."

"MORTAR COMBA-"

"No!" Jaina stated sternly. "We are not blowing it up and potentially injuring whatever is inside." The mortar team let out a defeated sigh and retreated to the back of the room.

"Lady Proudmoore, are you sure we should pursue this? What if whatever is in there is dangerous?"

"If it was, the kaldorei would've put more than just a giant stone door in place," Jaina said. "Something's trapped inside there. We've got to find out what it is."

"Well, how do you suppose we go about it?" Halford asked.

"Not entirely sure," she admitted. "But explosives are out of the picture."

"Fiddlesticks," a gruff voice said from the back of the cave.

"I wish to study it further. Look deeper into the magical energy encapsulating it."

"Perhaps you would find more success with my help," the sorceress said, approaching her. She smiled and nodded.

"Two mages are better than one, after all," she joked. Jaina and the high elf sorceress stood on opposite sides of the emerald. "Alright. Start!" The women synchronized their spells and pressed their palms against the gem. Their eyes shut, all their focus placed onto the emerald before them.

"Do you hear it?"Jaina asked.

"No, I'm afraid", the sorceress confessed.

"Focus on me. Reach out." Her eyes were shut tightly as she fixated on the heartbeat deep inside.

"I feel it now," the high elf said. "So soft." Jaina said nothing, reaching out to the heartbeat with her scrying magic. As the mana waves enveloped the thumping from the center, more things could be felt. A physical form could barely be made out. And something fuzzy was farther up from the heartbeat. A scrambled and sluggish swirling force. It was linked to the heartbeat somehow. The mage pushed further, reaching out to the miasma. A numbing sensation waved over her body. She felt her hand fall asleep. The numbness annoyed her, but Jaina did not wish to break the connection prematurely. Not until she deciphered whatever this was. As she pushed farther inward, the fuzziness and cloudiness dissipated slowly. Feeling in her hand returned. A jolt rushed through her heart as she recognized what it was.

A consciousness.

 **CRACK!**

Her blue eyes shot open, the sight of a jagged fracture staring back at her from the emerald. Smaller fractures began to splinter off from it, stretching across the rock face. The emerald started glowing brighter and humming. The cracks grew larger and larger, and the gem shook in place.

"It's going to explode!" Jaina cried out, teleporting both herself and the sorceress to the cave opening.

"Divine shield!" Halford called out, enveloping them all in a wave of Light energy. The emerald exploded, chunks of it rocketing across the cave. The pieces shattered on the rock wall and the Light shield. Not a single Alliance soldier was hurt. Clouds of dust hung over the floor like fog.

"So much for bein' rich," the bronze bearded dwarf said. Halford dismissed the shield, and Jaina maneuvered to the center of the cave. With a wave of her hand, she blew the dust away with her magic. It scattered to the corners of the cave, clearing the middle. The air cleared before her, and the mage discovered something sitting at her feet. It was a person but not like any person she had seen before. It resembled a male elf but taller and purple. A kaldorei! Jaina knelt down and examined him, placing her hand on his chest. There was a heartbeat, albeit a faint one.

"Mmmm…" a low grumble resonated from the night elf's throat. His eyes slowly opened. They were amber and glowed similar to high elf eyes but much brighter.

"Are you okay?" she asked him softly, her voice full of concern. The colors and shapes grew stronger as the night elf's vision was restored. Her piercing blue eyes locked with his. Her cheeks were soft, and her blonde hair hung down to her shoulders. The night elf felt a small gasp in his throat as he beheld her features. His purple cheeks turned a twinge of red at the sight of her beauty. A realization, however, had come over him. Her skin was not like his. It was a peach color. He staggered to his feet quickly, placing some distance between the two. "Easy." She held her hand up. "I mean you no harm."

The night elf looked vastly different from the high elves Jaina was familiar with. On his head rested a headdress painted orange and red, adorned with feathers. His hair was green, descending down his upper back. A small ponytail sat atop his head. The night elf's purple face was framed by bangs that hung down to his chin. He was shirtless, allowing some muscle tonnage to be seen. Large purple and maroon shoulderpads were worn, with a matching robe. A green and brown belt held the robe up, and a set of matching leather gloves protected his hands. A wooden staff with a bear's paw at the tip was slung over his back. He looked fearful, seeing the unusual looking armored men and women behind Jaina.

"Wha? Wh-who are you? Where am I?" He stammered and glanced around the room fearfully, his memory a haze. Nothing made sense to him. Where was he? How did he get here? How long was he gone?

"Easy," Jaina pleaded with him. "Relax."

"Get back," the night elf warned. "Stay away from…. from me…." He fell onto the ground, falling unconscious once again. The group slowly approached him and relaxed as they saw he would not reawaken. Jaina placed a hand over his heart.

"He's weak," she said. "We should take him back to our camp."

"Can we trust him?" Halford asked, looking at the high elf priest.

"I don't believe we have anything to fear," he stated.

"I trust we won't have any issues," Jaina warned.

"Not at all, ma'am," the priest said. "While we high elves have our disdain for the kaldorei, we follow you, Lady Proudmoore." She smiled and nodded at him.

"Excellent." Her palms glowed bright blue, and a portal to their camp opened. Gently lifting him in her arms, Jaina took the exhausted night elf and her forces through. The peasants smuggled some of the smaller emerald pieces with them through the portal.


	3. New Allies

The amber eyes of the unconscious kaldorei slowly slid open. His mind, a numb miasma, now began to become aware of the physical world around him. He was in a bed in the room they had given him. The blankets were soft and warm against his weak purple form. The Alliance's small base camp had expanded into a fort as they continued stockpiling resources from the cave and nearby forest. Their originally short stay expanded into a few weeks long, the troops not eager to pack up and move farther up the coast. But orders were orders, and they would be heading up to warmer and drier lands.

The night elf craned his neck to look at the details of the room around him. Against the wall was a generously supplied bookshelf. A rug sat on the floor beside his bed. A dresser had an unlit candle resting closest to his head. On the dresser were his shoulderpads, staff, headdress, and shoes. He reached for his headdress and slid it onto his head. A familiar comfort washed over him now that it rested on his head once more. The feeling faded fast as the reality of his situation set in. The night elf groaned and stretched his limbs, then proceeding to rub his eyes. Still tired even after being asleep for so long. Or was it long at all? He had no way of knowing. The lack of knowledge was exhausting. How long had it been? Where was he? Who were these mysterious newcomers?

The door to his room slid open, and Jaina stood in the doorway with High Priest Rohan and two guards. The night elf slinked back on the bed, pulling the covers up over his body.

"Relax," Jaina said calmly. She held her hands up, showing him she had no weapons. "We're not gonna hurt you." The night elf seemed to relax, looking her up and down. He certainly hadn't hallucinated her, that's for sure. Though she was attractive, she looked so bizarre. Pink skin and no pointed ears. What kind of elf was she? The woman took a seat at the end of the bed, giving him a comforting smile. "What's your name? Do you remember?" The kaldorei licked his lips, dried up from the tension he felt.

"Lavernius Jur," he said. His voice was smooth, sounding more mature than his youthful appearance would indicate. "Just call me "Jur" please." He paused, chewing on his lip. "And you are?"

"I am Jaina Proudmoore, leader of the survivors of Lordaeron."

"Survivors?" Jur asked. "What's Lordaeron?" Jaina giggled.

"Forgive me," she said. "You must be very confused. I'll start off slow. I'm a human. Lordaeron is a human kingdom from across the sea."

"Across the sea," Jur repeated, his brow furrowed as he stared down at his lap in contemplation. "Then you must be from the other half of Kalimdor."

"Correct," she said. "We call those the Eastern Kingdoms. This is High Priest Rohan." She stuck her arm out to point at the priest.

"Greetin's, lad," he said in a gruff but friendly voice.

"He's a dwarf. They live on the Eastern Kingdoms as well, in a kingdom called Ironforge."

"You," Jur said, pointing at Rohan. "I've seen your kind before. Are you Earthen?"

"Aye, lad! We be descended from 'em." Jur blinked and narrowed his eyes, looking Rohan over.

"But the Earthen were of stone. You're soft and of flesh and hair." Now it was Rohan's turn to look confused. He ran a finger over his chin.

"Lad, when's th' last time yeh seen an Earthen?" he asked. Jur squeezed his eyes shut as he reflected.

"We had just beat back the Legion," he said. "Kalimdor had been shattered by the Sundering." Jaina and Rohan stared in disbelief, his words stunning them to their cores.

"Lad, tha' was ten thousand years ago." Jur's eyes widened, a pressure on his chest arising as though he had been kicked by a tauren.

"Ten thousand years?" he shouted. He fell backwards onto the bed, a cold sweat building up on his forehead. Rohan hurried over to him while Jaina hovered over him, holding his shoulder gently.

"It's okay, Jur," she said calmly. "Relax. Let it process. I know this is scary, but please keep calm." Jur's breathing had escalated, a panic attack setting in. The mage wrapped her arms around him and held him close. "Shhh…" Her voice was soft and melodious, feeling like the blankets did. The feeling of being held by her was beyond soothing. Slowly, his breathing descended, and he slumped in her arms.

"Get the lad some food, boyos," Rohan said. One guard saluted and left while the other stood at attention. The dwarf turned back to the night elf and smiled. "Getting' some food in yeh belly oughta calm yeh down, aye?" Jur weakly nodded, smiling in return.

"I do like food," he said. The dwarf let out a wheezy chuckle. His gaze return to Jaina, still holding and looking down at him. Her eyes shimmered like jewels. They were comforting and friendly. "Ten thousand years…." She nodded.

"I can't imagine how lost you must feel," she said softly. "Trapped in there for so long."

"Yeh got a lot of history to catch up with, lad," Rohan said. "We be willin' to help fill in any blanks yeh got." Jur looked towards the packed bookshelf.

"Are there any history books?" he asked.

"Aye. History, anthropology, cookin', arts, some things I ain't ever even heard of in me life. Yeh can thank Jaina for yeh books."

"We mages do like books," Jaina said, looking the shelf across. "Perhaps a bit too much…" Jur continued staring at the bookshelf, not really paying attention to what they were saying. He had been gone for years, lost to time. Trapped against his own will and thrust into a strange new time and world. He was overwhelmed, consumed by anxiety and the fear of the unknown. But now he had knowledge. A plethora of knowledge. And people willing to help him. He had been lost but now had the tools to find himself in this new Azeroth.

"I've got a lot of work to do."

* * *

Dozens of tomes lined Jur's bed and desk as he tirelessly read everything he could about Azeroth during his ten-thousand-year slumber. So much history and so little time to read over it. The history of his newfound allies was utterly astounding. He read over many things: the dwarves and their civil war, the high elves and the founding of Quel'Thalas, the seven kingdoms of Arathor, the Orcish Horde from the mysterious Draenor, and the First and Second Wars. So much knowledge that it made his head spin. Studying their history was exciting, each book more interesting than the last. The kaldorei poured himself into each book, analyzing every paragraph, footnote, reference, summarization, and title. He had always enjoyed reading so to have thousands of years' worth of knowledge incased in a bookshelf all for him was quite the prize.

Though he was active, Rohan had said that the elf was in no condition to wander about the place just yet. His body was perfectly preserved in the emeralds for ten thousand years with minimal signs of aging, but exerting himself too fast could damage his body. As such, he was confined to the small building at the center of the fort. Enough space to explore but close enough to his bed should something occur. Jur dined on the delicious human food and elven wine they provided him, taking care to ration it as to not inconvenience others. Which was hard for a man that hadn't tasted a good meal in several millennia.

His door slid open with a creek, and Jaina peeked her head through it. "Are you well, Jur?" He placed his book down and turned to her, smiling.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I feel great. My body's not weak and sore anymore, and my anxiety is quite diminished." She smiled, pleased at his words.

"Excellent," she said. "And just call me Jaina. You're a guest among us. Do you feel well enough to walk around some?"

"Absolutely!" The kaldorei rose to his feet, sliding on his shoulderpads and shoes. His bear staff was slung behind him. "Where are we off to?"

"I figured we'd patrol around the fort," Jaina answered. "You must be tired of being cramped in here all day."

"I can do without confined spaces for a while," Jur confessed, following her down the stairs. "How have things been here of late?"

"Well enough. I've sent scouting regiments deeper into Kalimdor to look for anything that will help us in our quest. If they find something, they're to set up a base camp and send a mage back here. Aside from that? Same old, same old. Patrols, harvesting stone and lumber, fighting off the occasional crocolisk." The two burst through the front doors, and Jur was able to fully glimpse the land for the first time. The humans had built structures of wood and stone all over the area. Though humble in appearance, it was decently fortified for what little they had. A stable, blacksmith, arcane sanctum, lumber mill, and guard towers made up the Alliance's fort.

Beyond it, the land was wet and dank. There was no sign of color anywhere amongst the vegetation. Jur remembered this used to be rolling plains before the Sundering. So much had changed in the span of ten thousand years. How much even resembled what it once did? A few soldiers had gathered around to investigate the kaldorei, in intrigue and mystery.

"Alright, men, back to work," a voice called out. The soldiers dispersed on command, and a man in heavy plate armor approached him. "So you must be the night elf guest we have."

"In case his appearance wasn't a giveaway," Jaina joked, giggling slightly. "Jur, this is Commander Halford Wyrmbane. My second-in-command." Wyrmbane saluted him.

"You're an honored guest of Lady Proudmoore here, sir," he stated. "Anyone gives you trouble, you direct them to me. What can I help you with, my Lady?"

"Jur and I will be going out on patrol," Jaina said. "Showing him our humble fort."

"Would you like me to send an escort with you, Lady Proudmoore?"

"No need," she said. "We won't be heading into the marsh."

"Understood." Wyrmbane saluted and took his leave, barking orders at the peasants laying down mortar.

"He's a soldier through and through, but a good man," Jaina said. She waved him along, and the two perused along the fort. "It's not much, but it's all we have."

"You have the bare essentials," Jur stated. "That's really all you need."

"I'm sure you have many questions for me that a book can't answer." The druid racked his brain for what had been covered in the tomes. Though he had accumulated tons of knowledge, one peculiar subject seemed to have eluded him. Frequently mentioned but rarely explored.

"I'm curious about the things called orcs," Jur said. "Your books describe what they look like but not much on their culture."

"We never had much time to ask," Jaina said, frowning. "They were too busy trying to kill us. And I don't think most people really know about who the orcs were before they came here."

"There's not much in your books about Draenor either."

"The only people to go to Draenor were the Alliance Expedition," Jaina replied. Her tone sobered. "And they died when the planet exploded." The loss of such noble tacticians and fighters was a great blow to them all. With Anduin Lothar's leadership and Khadgar's wit, perhaps they could have staved off the Scourge. But Jaina had little time for wild speculation on what could have been. This was the here and the now. "But what we know for sure is that the orcs were influenced by some sort of demon magic. How they contacted demons, we're not sure."

"How did they get here? Your books don't answer how they arrived other than some Dark Portal." Jaina chewed on her bottom lip apprehensively, recalling the words Antonidas had recounted to her in private when she had come of age to ascend to archmage ranking.

"That's… not exactly public knowledge," she confessed.

"So you do know," Jur said.

"Yes…" She tugged at her collar apprehensively. "It's just that the truth is rather controversial." A smile smile from the kaldorei greeted her.

"I won't tell," Jur said softly. Jaina couldn't help but smile at his response. Such a pure statement.

"Well… the Kirin Tor isn't here. And being my close ally, I suppose you should know the circumstances of our presence here in Kalimdor." Jur grinned at the prospect of learning more history, much less secret history. "You see, it all dates back to before the fall of Stormwind. My master, Antonidas, had convened with the other members of the Council of Six to send one of their own as an apprentice to Medivh, the Last Guardian. Khadgar was that apprentice. Alongside the hero Anduin Lothar and the Horde emissary Garona Halforcen, Khadgar had discovered that Medivh was the one to have opened the portal."

Jur's mouth hung agape in disbelief. The Guardian and his lineage were hallowed and renown throughout all of Azeroth. His lineage and role spanning back hundreds of years in dedication to protecting the world. And now said world seemed fit to fall around their ears at a moment's notice.

"But why would he do such a thing? Betray all of humanity?"

"It turns out that Medivh was possessed by the spirit of the fallen Titan Sargeras. Eight hundred years ago, his mother Aegwynn had fought his avatar at Northrend. Though his physical form was defeated, his spirit hid within her womb until she became pregnant with her child."

"Monstrous," Jur said, frowning. "To exploit an unborn child. Is there no end to Sargeras' barbarism?"

"You know of Sargeras?" Jaina asked, to which Jur nodded.

"Ten thousand years ago, his Burning Legion had allied with the Highborne and threatened to destroy our world. It's what you refer to as the War of the Ancients in your books." The kaldorei sighed. "It seems that the more things change, the more they really do stay the same."

"Quite," Jaina said in agreement. His revelation seemed to trouble her. "Now you see why the Kirin Tor kept this secret. Such knowledge could have started a panic. Antonidas didn't even tell me until I had become an archmage."

"I can understand," Jur said. "But what brought your people here to Kalimdor? Not that I'm complaining, mind you. You did free me, after all." Jaina stopped on a hill and stared out towards the sea. She missed the clear waters of Dalaran. The murky colorless bay before her provided a bleak alternative.

"It had begun months ago," she started. "A plague had spread around the Lordaeron countryside. People were getting sick with some mysterious illness. Even dying. Then the rumors began that the dead were rising to their feet." Jaina inhaled and sighed softly. "If only they were just rumors." The necromantic magic of the Cult was beyond reprehensible. Men's flesh bleeding and melting off their faces before her very eyes. Hideous pustules, boils, and festering wounds that contorted, snapping bone and tearing sinew. Remaking the poor victims into mindless affronts to the Light and human decency against their will.

"Were the orcs involved?" Jur asked. The young human shook her head.

"It had been the work of the Cult of the Damned, led by none other than Kel'Thuzad. Once, he was a member of the Six but then abandoned the Kirin Tor altogether and disappeared. They were infecting the populace and resurrecting the dead. With the leader of the Silver Hand paladins Uther the Lightbringer and Prince Arthas, we began striking back against the undead. We even managed to slay Kel'Thuzad. Well, Arthas did, technically." Jur stared at her with wide eyed wonderment.

"You fought with the Silver Hand? And against the undead?" Jaina held a hand to her face to hide her blush from his gaze of adoration.

"Well, to be fair, it's not as romanticized as it sounds. It's actually quite distressing." Her expression turned somber. "The plague was horrific, with men boiling in their own armor upon contact." Jur's expression grew dark and contemplative. "Though terrible beyond words, it was much simpler at the time. Fighting undead instead of traversing across the globe. Everything changed at Stratholme." She gulped, eyes moistening as she recalled the turning point for all of them. She gathered her breath before continuing.

"You see, the Cult of the Damned had infected granaries, which had been distributed to local towns and cities around the Lordaeron countryside. Stratholme had received its delivery. Upon consuming the grain, those who ate it would die horribly, bleeding from every orifice. And then rise once more. Arthas was shaken to his core and proposed an ultimatum: purge the city and kill everyone inside." Jur inhaled sharply, his blood running cold at the prospect.

"But those are innocent people," he said. "There'd be no way to know who was infected and who wasn't. Civilians would be slaughtered!"

"That's what we said. But Arthas was insistent. Perhaps he had the right idea all along, but at the time, we couldn't conceive of it." Jur smirked dryly.

"That's the thing about hindsight. It's never there when it's really needed. Trust me. I speak from experience."

"It doesn't help that Antonidas had been researching a potential cure for the plague. If we had time, I could've ported to Dalaran and have him bubble the city in order to prevent anyone leaving. But we didn't. And we weren't even sure the cure would work. Uther and I refused to aid him." She gulped, pulling her hood down over her eyes. "I feel like I betrayed him." Jur reached out to rest his hand on her arm.

"Jaina, to slaughter innocents is a big order. You can't guilt trip yourself into being apprehensive. It's called basic humanity."

"It's more than that," Jaina said. "I made a promise to him. That I wouldn't abandon him. And I had to break that." Jur blinked in confusion.

"Promise?" Jaina's cheeks pinkened, and the breath in her chest seized.

"Well, you see. Arthas and I were… more than close." Her cheeks went from pink to red in a split second.

"Oh…" Jur said, feeling the anxiousness creep up his neck. This woman had been through the ringer, but he didn't know it went this deep with her. An awkward cough escaped the meager mage.

"Anyway, he approached me after the city was purged. Told me a dreadlord named Mal'Ganis had been responsible for the plague in Lordaeron. He fled to Northrend and challenged Arthas to hunt him."

"Dreadlords," Jur growled. "More of the Legion's work. We faced one of his ilk on the battlefield years ago. Tichondrius." His bottom jaws locked into a scowl. "It seems they're not content unless they meddle in Azeroth's affairs frequently. I have not faced this Mal'Ganis, but if he beckoned Arthas to follow him, he was no doubt leading him into a trap."

"That's what I said," Jaina told him. "He begged me to go, and I begged him to stay. I feared for his life and sanity."

"And for good reason. The Legion's magic is unlike anything that can be found on Azeroth magically. Sargeras twisted and warped our own into his minions, half-goat demons called satyrs. But this necromancy is unlike anything I'd seen before. Perhaps they've learned new tricks. Or were saving it for a rainy day. Regardless, the Legion's involvement in this plague means they have big plans for your homeland."

"If history is to be determined, their plan is to destroy everything. I'm not sure what happened in Northrend with Arthas or Mal'Ganis, but he returned home months later and slaughtered everyone. He raised the undead or ground Lordaeron to dust in days. He killed the elves, his loyal subjects. Uther! Even his own father…" Jur grimaced in anger, shaking his head slowly.

"First the exploitation of children and now patricide," he growled. "And here I thought I had heard the extent of their depravity."

"Had it not been the prophet, we'd have joined them."

"The prophet?" Jaina cleared her throat, nodding.

"Before the Purge, a mysterious prophet adorned in raggedy old robes with feathers approached Antonidas. At first, I thought of him as a delusional soothsayer. But I sensed immense magical power within him, greater even than my master's. He warned us to journey here to Kalimdor at the risk of certain death if we remained. However, his message was disregarded. Then Arthas and the undead Scourge marched onto Dalaran's doorstep. We gathered who we could and fled."

"And now you're here." She let out an amused huff of air through her nose.

"Yes. Now we're here." Jaina turned away from the sea and led him along the outer wall, walking near the makeshift crops they were setting up. The farmers waved at her, and she smiled and waved in return.

"You've been through a lot. You're remarkably strong willed to make it this far." Though flattered by his words, it did little to ease the anxiety Jaina felt.

"But I still have no idea what we're supposed to do here," she confessed. "The prophet sent us here but gave us nothing to look for. So far, all we've found is water and moss." She rubbed her forehead, the stress of the unknown giving her a headache. Knowledge was a mage's biggest asset, and here she was in a forgotten part of the world with no guidance or even a map.

"Water's pretty useful," Jur noted. "Just make sure you boil it first." Jaina couldn't help but snicker.

"I suppose you're right," she admitted, laughing softly.

"In all seriousness, with what little you were given, you've made something of it. In a foreign part of the world with little resources and a vague goal, this isn't bad. You make do with what you can, and this is a solid start. Then again, I can't complain since you freed me from that cave, after all." Jaina huffed through her nose again, a brief chuckle in her chest. "I wanna help you." She gave him a confused look.

"Help?"

"Yeah. Help you on your quest to find… whatever it is we're looking for you. I wanna contribute around here and make myself useful."

"Jur, while I'm very grateful for your gratitude, it's not necessary. This isn't your battle, and I'm still not sure how well you are for labor."

"Please," Jur said, holding up a hand. "I can't stay cooped up in one space any longer." He grimaced and shook his head. "Having to remain close to my bed was a drain. I need to walk around, stretch my legs. I've been inside for a week." He shuddered at the thought of having to go back inside, even for sleep. His legs felt so good after meandering around the fort with Jaina. The feeling of his calf muscles flexing and the pressure beneath his feet as he walked the earth. He felt as though he'd never wanna sleep again. "Plus, there's gotta be a more applicable way to make use of my presence. Sitting in bed, reading books, and eating your food seems counterproductive."

"But you're our guest-"

"And this is war," Jur said. "The Legion is involved, which means either they'll be here soon or are already here. You need all the help you can get. I can't contact the other kaldorei or even know if they still exist, but you got me at your side. As an ally and friend." Jaina felt a satisfied smile appear on her face. His words were a small comfort in these trying times. And while she hated to admit it, Jur had a point. Though they had managed to find more food from the wild game farther west in the savannah and established smaller outposts, resources were still dwindling. There were only so many mages that could hold portals and funnel resources to and from outposts. Jur looked over his shoulder to the plot of tilled soil behind him. "Here. I'll show you." He leaned down and grabbed the soil. The kaldorei closed his eyes and focused, feeling it. His hand and veins in his forearm began to tingle as he channeled raw magic. The soil was beyond damp and filled with salt, a result of being located so close to the sea. Their plants would not flourish in this environment. At least, not without some help.

Jur reached his hand deeper into the soil, his eyes still shut. His focus was steely and unbreakable as his sense of touch spread throughout the moist dirt. He felt the seeds planted in them. Various foreign vegetable seeds. Unattended, they would stand no chance in this foreign Kalimdor landscape. The veins in his arm began to glow as he cast his spell. The farmers dropped their tools and stepped back, marveling in amazement at the sight before them. The soil was drying up, still retaining water but not oversaturating and choking the seeds. And the seeds were bursting through and blossoming. Carrots, tomatoes, and corn rose up. They grew little by little, until reaching full size. The men tending the fields cheered and went to work right away gathering their magical harvest. The night elf had just gifted them a two weeks' supply of food. He withdrew his hand from the soil and remained kneeling, letting out soft ragged breaths.

"That was incredible!" Jaina proclaimed. "You grew those vegetables from nothing!"

"Not nothing," Jur corrected. "I…" He stopped and took a breath. "I used your seeds and converted the marsh's soil as well as my nature magic to enhance their growth. A technique used by kaldorei farmers before the final harvest. Although, magical enhancement does seem to affect the taste. Mighty make your teeth tingle."

"How did you do this?" Jaina asked, still staring in awe at the crops.

"I'm a druid," Jur said. "A practitioner of nature magic…" He paused to breathe in sharply through his nose. Instead of using raw mana like a mage, we druids are in sync with nature. We prefer to use the natural energy of the organic world and the light of the stars. This means we can…" He stopped once more, inhaling deeply. Sweat had built up on the back of his neck. "We can commune with nature, enhance the growth of plants, and even take on the form of animals…" Jaina frowned at him, sensing something off.

"Are you alright?" she asked, leaning down and resting her hand on his shoulder. Jur shut his eyes and nodded, his head feeling somewhat heavy.

"I'll be fine," he reassured her. "It's just been a while since I used magic. Hadn't expect it to take such a toll on my body." He smirked and let an amused huff of air out through his nose. "Guess I'm rusty."


	4. Strange Findings

The dark of the night hung over the Alliance base as it began to quiet down. The night shift took over, patrolling their last bastion in this strange old land with torches to guide them. Footmen marched, and riflemen sat atop the towers. Through the scope of the blunderbusses did they examine the marsh. Save a few strange lights in the distance, the marsh was silent and still. On a grassy dry hill outside, Jaina and Jur sat. The crafty mage had given Wyrmbane the slip and teleported them out of the base. Jur's words had gotten to her, and she too didn't want to head inside just yet. The two were lying on their backs, looking up to the stars.

"Thank goodness," she said, slicking her hair back. "I'm still not used to how humid it is during the day. Lordaeron summers were hot but never muggy like this."

"I can't imagine how this place looked as it changed over the span of ten thousand years," Jur said, observing the obscured horizon through the dark. "Still as usual. No late night activity to be seen out there." Jaina turned her head.

"How can you tell?" she asked. Jur looked over at her through his peripheral and smirked.

"We night elves can see in the dark," he boasted. "Shadows and the night do not obscure our vision." Jaina smiled softly as he spoke of his people. But it then began to fade as she reflected. They had found him entombed in emeralds, locked inside a cave with a heavy gate. The kaldorei had gone through great trouble to seal him away with rock and nature magic. But as to why, she couldn't piece together. He was abundantly friendly to them. He even gave them food. Yet, Jaina couldn't help but find his mysterious situation troubling. It had persistently troubled her before today but had receded to the back of her mind when she spent time with him.

"Why were you locked away?" she asked, not thinking. Jur felt the breath leave his chest, and his eyes slowly looked over to her out of his peripheral. Heat built up on the back of his neck. Jaina furrowed her brow, feeling guilt at springing such an obviously distressing question upon him. His discomfort was quite noticeable. Still, it was a question she needed to know. Jur merely stared forward unblinking. He gulped down the knot that had developed in its throat.

"It's…" He inhaled sharply through his nose and breathed out his mouth. "Quite a story. Not a… not a happy one." Her soft hand rested on his arm.

"Jur, I need to know," she said. "Please. I've told you so much. About the Alliance, about myself. Don't you think you owe me an explanation about how you were locked inside that cave with a giant stone door? Even if it's just a little one?" Jur gulped once again, avoiding looking at her. Nothing she said he could argue against. But this was something else entirely. And he wasn't sure how she'd react.

"I…" He inhaled through his nose and let out a heavy sigh. "Ten thousand years go. I… I did something bad. Real bad. Betrayed people that trusted me. I was young. And stupid. Thought I knew more." He huffed through his nose, half out of amusement and out of contempt for himself. "Guess I didn't. I was cast out." He licked his lips, dried up from the tension he felt. "Stayed in a cave before I was to leave. An order of priestesses tracked me down." His tone changed from one of soft somberness to faint bitterness. "Said I couldn't go free despite how I was ordered to. So they cast a spell on me to turn me into a hunk of rock. Then they built that giant stone door, I guess." He folded his arms and just sat there in silence. "I… I don't wanna say anymore. Okay?" Jaina kept staring at him, half out of sorrow and of suspicion. The word betrayal continued to repeat itself in the back of her head. She was harboring a criminal in her midst. One kicked out of his own home, wherever that was on this mighty hunk of land. But the imprisonment was throwing her off. They told him to leave only to trap him? The mage furrowed her brow as she mulled it over. That logic just didn't make sense. And the power to trap men in solid emerald? What type of magics did these kaldorei possess? She had so many questions and knew he couldn't get all the answers out of him, even if he did cooperate. Jaina sighed softly, looking down at her lap. She clasped her hands together.

"Okay," she uttered softly, somewhat exhausted.

"Do you trust me?" His voice was barely a whisper. No emotion in it. Not even bothering to look at him. She peered at him, trying to read him in any way she could. There was no doubt he felt great guilt. He wore it right on his face as he confessed. But he refused to say more. The Kirin Tor were specialized in keeping secrets, which was something that never settled well with her. Jaina hated deceit and secrets for they always bred mistrust and broke bonds. Yet, she couldn't fight what she felt for him. He had been kind to her, to all of them. A good friend in these trying times. And he grew them food as a gesture of good will. He wanted to help them, fight their fight with her. After all this was over, she was determined to get the full story. For now…

"Yes," she said with a smile. "I trust you." Jur let out a deep sigh, with such noticeable weight that even Jaina felt it.

"You don't know how much that means to me," he confessed. "I probably don't deserve it." The druid licked his lips, dried once again from the tension and the cold air.

"I'll be the judge of that," she said with a wink. Jur huffed through his nose, a chuckle in his throat. Jaina looked back up to the sky, drinking in the light of the moon and stars. "For such a dreary land, the stars look beautiful. I hadn't expected we'd be graced with such a clear night." The past few days greeted the meager Alliance base with nothing but starless nights, the bleakness matching the vast empty marsh around them.

"Just our luck, huh," Jur said, following her gaze. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose softly. The feeling of the moonlight on his skin was like a warm bath. "I love the night."

"I'm sure most night elves do," Jaina said, smirking at him. Jur let out a chuckle, leaning forward.

"Heh. Smartass," he said. "You know, kaldorei translates to "Children of the Stars." I never realized how wonderful that sounds."

"Did the nights look this wonderful in your time?" Jaina asked.

"Even better," Jur said, smiling. "The constellations are a tad different, but the real difference was how vibrant the sky was. The skies of Suramar and Zin'Azshari twinkled purple and blue with the stars. It looked like paintings, it was so vibrant. The plants in the gardens would shimmer in the light of the moon." He felt solemnness supplant the nostalgia in his heart. Suramar was such a lovely place, even if the memories of his people and past life brought him pain. Now, it was all gone from the world.

"I can't imagine," Jaina said, watching him. "Lordaeron had nights like these every day. I remember when me and Arthas-" She sucked in her bottom lip at his name. Arthas. That prince with the golden locks. That knight in shining armor. They were their first. Their first kiss, their first everything. All of that feels like a millennia ago. She didn't even get to say goodbye to him. Or whoever that was storming Dalaran. It was so hard to believe that man leading the undead to destroy her home was once her everything. A frail sigh escaped her lips, colder than the blood of the dead that followed him.

Jur frowned sadly as he watched her. Her eyes were sad as she was no doubt remembering her lost love. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he contemplated a way to break the awkward silence.

"Well, go on," he said, giving her a curious smile. She blinked and looked at him, snatched away from her solemn reminiscence. "What were you gonna say?" Jaina's lips curled into a small smile.

"Well, when we were younger, the sun had gone down," she began. "It was during winter when the snow fell. Arthas had snuck off and surprised me by lobbing snowballs at me." Jur burst into laughter, slapping his knee. Jaina couldn't help but join him.

"Our fearless leader having kiddie snowball fights," he said, grinning. She nudged him playfully in his ribs.

"Now, you stop that," she teased. She continued, getting lost in the good memories she had with Arthas. Their childhood adventures and cute romantic moments shared. Jur leaned forward and watched her as she lost herself in nostalgia. Her blue seemed to glow with excitement, as did the rest of her. The moonlight that washed over her made her look heavenly. Her voice was melodious to his long floppy ears. The kaldorei could listen to her speak for hours. He blinked in surprise as he felt a warmth rise in his chest. Jur placed a hand to it, perplexed by this feeling. His stomach fluttered, and his cheeks felt warm. Jaina was joyously laughing at her stories of Arthas, so glad to feel such comforts once more. Her laughter subsided, and she leaned forward on her knees, staring up at the stars. "What a lovely view." Jur couldn't tear himself away from her. Her hair seemed to shimmer with the moonlight. He was quite thankful for his purple skin and the cover of night that his blush was hidden. He rubbed the back of his hot neck, still gazing at her.

"Yeah," he said softly. "It is…"

* * *

Another day of dreary skies and fog awaited the Alliance. Jur had made his way out of the base and was sitting on a hill overlooking the marsh. Jaina didn't want him to wander off. For her sake, he wouldn't, but he wished to venture farther than just the outer wall. The marsh was intimidating, and the rumors of ghosts lurking in the trees did little to ease the anxiety. Yet his natural curiosity and desire to wander outweighed his supernatural suspicions. So far, everything seemed fine. No ghosts like the privates claimed. Even the spiders and crocolisks were nowhere to be seen. Jur looked over his shoulder to see the Alliance base, barely visible among the horizon and through the fog. This was as far as he'd go.

He sat down on the hill and stared out in the marsh. Nothing but trees, reeds, and water as far as the eye could see. Or at least as much as it could see through this fog. He wasn't sure what he expected. That's all that was out here for miles. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. The bleakness and lack of color was a stark contrast to the vibrant Ashenvale Forest that seemed to stretch on forever across Kalimdor. He missed the color. As narcissistic as it was, sometimes he would stare at his own reflection for a bit to get lost in the memories of the green and purple forest of old. Now, it seemed as though the old Kalimdor had never existed. How much of the old world was left? If there even was anything old left.

His restless nature began to rise once more. The druid always had a nomadic soul, never content to stay anywhere for long. There was a whole world out there he wanted to see. But exploring would have to wait. His newfound friends and allies needed his aid, and there was no way he would survive alone. Though he had a staff and was well trained in hand-to-hand as well as magical combat, he needed supplies. Scout regiments and gryphon riders came back with tales of a large stretch of savannah to the west, arid and harsh. He wanted to see it, but the heat was something he could not beat. But it wasn't really the heat that bothered him. Rather, the prospect of meeting other kaldorei. He had been exiled and told to leave what remained of Kalimdor, never to return. If he stumbled upon them, they would execute him on the spot. That is, if they still existed. The Well of Eternity had been their source of immortality, and its destruction had made them mortal. Did the night elves still exist, or did they go extinct? Or did they become high elves like the Highborne they banished did? Was he the last kaldorei?

And where were the other races? The tauren or even trolls, for that matter? This marsh was unnaturally empty, and it agitated Jur that nobody had made contact with anyone else. Kalimdor was large, but it wasn't desolate. Someone else besides them had to be here.

The sound of rolling thunder tore its way across the sky. Jur looked to the horizon to see a patch of dark clouds hovering over an area beyond.

 _What an unusual storm_ , he thought to himself. Storms usually consisted of more than one dark cloud. A crack of blue lightning shot through the air and hit the ground where Jur was staring. He covered his head with his arms, flinching instinctively. Another bolt of lightning struck along the horizon, followed by a third. Jur narrowed his eyes and stared. Lightning striking three times in the same location was unheard of. And the isolated cloud seemed to confirm his suspicion. This was an artificial storm, but who possessed the magic to control the weather so violently? Druids had the power to conjure storms but not with such precision. He jumped when another bolt struck along the horizon. Each bolt was angled at a different direction, as though they were being aimed. So someone else possessed nature magic as he did.

Jur reached for the staff on his back and clutched it, but his head darted around to the Alliance base in the distance. He had promised Jaina he would stay close, but his burning curiosity was overwhelming.

"I won't be long," he rationalized to himself. With a leap, Jur darted from the hill to the grass below and sprinted. His staff in hand, and magic coursed through his veins. The druid vaulted onto trees and leapt from them, returning to the ground after bodies of water and rocks were cleared. His masters -former masters- had trained him well in traversing his environment. Were he not exiled, perhaps they would be proud of him. A satisfied smirk appeared on his face as the wind rushed through his hair, the grass whipping against his legs. The wild nature of the druid had returned. Jur pounced over a fallen log and slid into a tree to stop himself. The sounds of hissing, growling, and grunting could be heard. He peaked out from behind the tree to see an amazing sight.

A pack of large green spiders had emerged from their barrow and were attacking a man wearing heavy plate armor. From the look of the barrow behind him, he had stumbled onto their nest. As Jur was about to leap to his aid, he ducked right back down as he got a better view of the man. He was huge, easily taller than a human. His armor was black and gold, the shoulderpads enormous. With a mighty yell, he swung a large hammer into the head of one spider, sending its juices splattering. The hammer was immense, so large an ordinary man would need two hands to hold it. Yet this man wielded it with ease. The metal head of the hammer bore the insignia of a wolf's head in a circle. But the most eye opening feature of this man was his looks. A large black ponytail hung from the back of his head, and two long braids drifted down his chest. Most surprising was his green skin, blue eyes, and tusks that jutted from his bottom jaw.

An orc! Jur recognized it from its description in the books Jaina had provided him. What were orcs doing in Kalimdor? Had they followed the Alliance here? Jaina could not possibly face both the Legion and the Horde. His thoughts were interrupted as a great hairy beast covered in black fur pounced onto an approaching spider. The beast wore red armor adorned with primal designs and a spike collar. No doubt this was the dreaded dire wolf the orcs rode into battle.

A spider leapt from a tree in an attempt to tackle the dire wolf, but the orc jumped to meet him. His boot collided with the spider's head, resulting in a sickening squelch. He landed and turned around, another spider charging him. The orc bared his teeth and began to spin his hammer, faster and faster. The clouds overhead crackled wildly. The orc pointed the hammer at the spider, and it was vaporized in the blink of an eye by a bolt of blue lightning.

 _So the orcs could control the elements too. But Jaina's books told me they only practiced demonic magic._ The more he saw, the less he knew. The orc's arm was tangled in a string shot of web one spider had shot. The wolf was being tangled as well, the arachnids swarming the beast. The orc roared at them and charged right for them. He tackled them to the ground only for more to rush him. The two were covered in spiders. This seemed like it would take care of itself. Though the orc was tough, the spiders had him matched in numbers. And even if they beat the creatures in battle, their venom would finish them off. It appeared that Jaina's base was safe. Yet, Jur could not help but feel guilty at the man as he was pinned to the ground. The dire wolf had joined its master, being swarmed and cocooned as well. The orc fought tooth and nail to escape, reaching for his wolf. He really seemed to care for this beast.

Jur looked over his shoulder to find the base, but it was nowhere in sight. He felt he should flee and warn Jaina but at the cost of the orc's life. The book told him they were nothing but savage animals that pillage and murder. Even so, something inside the kaldorei compelled him. He growled between his teeth and leapt out from cover, shouting. He swung his right hand back, and the veins began to glow. From blue to white with a crackling energy manifesting in his palm. Like he was throwing a ball, he lobbed the surge of energy at the spider atop the orc. It rocketed through the air and hit the ground, crumpling in on itself. The druid grinned with satisfaction that his starsurge finished the job.

"I've still got it," he growled to himself. He thrust his right hand forward, and a beam of star energy shot from it and right through another spider. His moonfire lit the arachnid ablaze. The others turned their focus towards this new prey, rushing the druid as he peppered them with his magic. The orc rose to his feet and pulled two back by their thoraxes, tearing them off. Jur pushed both hands together and out, resulting in a rapid gust of air launching the spiders back. The orc caught one with his hammer, and the dire wolf leapt into the air and bit the other one. Jur kept firing off magic to incinerate his enemies with star energy while the orc crushed them with sheer force.

A spider even larger than the dire wolf emerged from the underbrush, heading right for Jur. Its mandibles dripped with foul venom. The orc swung his hand back and threw the hammer at the spider, smashing it through the tree. The creature was turned to goo and riddled with splinters. Jur nearly fell over from the burst of wind the hammer caused when it flew by. The orc clenched his fingers, and the hammer crackled with lightning. As though it had a mind of its own, it flew back into his hand. Clearly, this was no ordinary weapon. Or this was no ordinary orc. More spiders emerged from the nest, determined to protect it with their dying breaths. They could not keep this struggle up forever. Soon, they would tire or run out of mana.

"Burn the nest!" he shouted. The orc turned to him, staring at him in disbelief. "We gotta burn that nest!" His eyes narrowed, and he nodded in response. The orc spun his hammer while Jur channeled a starsurge through both arms. In sync, they shot at the nest and blew it up with a fiery inferno. Screeches echoed from within the burrow as the spiders boiled inside. The remaining arachnids fled into the woods, away from them and away from the Alliance camp. Jur inhaled through his nose and let out a satisfied sigh. "Thank goodness." He smirked with confidence at their victory, but it disappeared when he turned to face the orc. He was way bigger than he thought, sporting a few inches on him. The druid felt pressure on his chest at the prospect of being alone with the orc. And his giant beast. He could not possibly take them both on. Out of his peripheral he spotted an opening in the trees. If he was fast, he could shadowmeld and hide. The orc hooked his hammer onto his belt and extended his hand to the druid.

"Lok'tar, friend," he grunted. His voice was rumbly and gruff but emanated wisdom and even friendliness. "I am grateful for your aid in these trying times. Had you not arrived when you did, my wolf and I would be food for those damned beasts." Jur blinked in surprise, staring at his gauntlet. The orcs were said to be smart, but he didn't know they could talk. Especially so eloquently. He snapped back to reality and shook his hand firmly, not wanting to offend his honor. If orcs even had honor.

"Um, y-you're welcome," he said shakily. "I saw you were in danger and wanted to help. Who-who are you?" He hesitated for a second, mulling the situation over. He was with the Alliance, and orcs fought the Alliance. If he let it slip that he knew about the orcs despite them not ever meeting, he might get suspicious. And then he would be truly done for if the orc wanted to start another conflict with the Alliance. "And what are you?" He gulped, praying in his head at his quick save. The orc held his right arm against his chest and bowed.

"I am Thrall, warchief of the Horde." Jur tucked in his lips and nodded. Perhaps it would have been better to play ignorant. Let him explain everything. Plus, he would get to learn something the books could not provide. "I am an orc. And what exactly might you be? From your ears, you seem to resemble the elves from across the sea." Jur licked his lips, dry from the apprehension he felt as Thrall studied him closely.

"I am an elf," Jur said. "A night elf. My name is Lavernius Jur. Just "Jur" please."

"I have not heard of you night elves," Thrall confessed. "Are there more of you?" Jur shrugged.

"I had just woken up after a great sleep," the druid replied. "I haven't seen anyone since a few days ago, so your guess is as good as mine. Are there other orcs like you?" Thrall nodded.

"We have made camp farther west in the Barrens," he said. "I came here to Dustwallow Marsh to gather spider venom sacs for my witch doctors so they can be synthesized into medicines." Jur furrowed his brow as he thought over his words. So this was Dustwallow Marsh and the savannah was the Barrens. These places had distinct names, which meant other people had to exist. And they did not sound like orc names, which means they must be close by. Thrall reached down and extracted a venom sac from the corpse of a spider, tearing right through its body.

"I will need plenty of venom sacs, which means I will need to raid another nest. Perhaps you would be willing to join me." Jur felt a tension rise in his chest. There were more orcs, which means more opportunities to learn. But it also took him farther away from the base and into potential danger. He was playing a risky game, but if he handled himself right, he could learn much.

"Sure thing, Thrall," Jur said. "I'd be happy to help."


	5. Tales of the Horde

Thrall stuffed a venom sac into a burlap pouch hanging from the dire wolf's saddle. Each of the pouches had been filled to capacity. Jur and Thrall had cleared the next spider nest in no time, no longer caught off guard by their sheer numbers. The warchief hung his hammer from his belt and approached his loyal steed.

"Two nests' worth should suffice," he said, lifting himself onto the armored saddle. "I appreciate your generosity in this task, friend." Jur smiled and nodded, surprised by how approachable the orc was.

"Happy to help, sir," he said respectfully. Thrall turned the dire wolf to face the west.

"You have aided the Horde, and such generosity is not lost on us," Thrall said. "As a token of appreciation, I wish for you to join us at our camp out west. We have food and supplies to share." Jur bit his bottom lip anxiously. Now, he was really testing his limits. The kaldorei would be well out of reach of the Alliance and into the unknown, possibly even into danger.

"That won't be necessary, sir," Jur said, smiling nervously. He reached around back to fiddle with his ponytail. "Just doing a good deed for someone in need."

"Nonsense," Thrall insisted. "I am honor bound to repay debts, and I owe you a debt for saving my life as well as that of my companion's." The orc scratched his mount behind the ears. Jur looked at the great animal, ferocious in appearance but calm in demeanor. He remembered the advice his former master had given him in regards to handling strange animals. Jur cautiously held his hand out to the dire wolf, palm exposed. The beast sniffed his palm and then licked his purple flesh. The kaldorei sighed with relief that the dire wolf bore no hostility to him. Thrall smiled, huffing through his nose with amusement.

"And it seems my companion likes you as well. Animals can always be trusted. And since you aided me in my task, I must reward you in kind." Jur looked up at the mighty warchief. He certainly didn't seem to imply he wished to harm him and carried himself with great valor. And it didn't seem wise to test an orc's honor.

"Very well," Jur relented. "I'll head back to your camp."

"Excellent," Thrall said with a grin. He nudged the dire wolf in its ribs with his boot, and the beast trudged through the marsh. Jur strode alongside him, able to keep up with them at his brisk walking pace. He eyed the orc warchief as his mind reeled with the desire to find more answers. About the orcs, Draenor, anything he could learn.

"…You're not from around here, are you?" Jur asked. Thrall nodded.

"You're right in your assumption," he admitted. "We orcs and the Horde are of another world." Another world. To hear the orc say these words himself sent feelings of eagerness and adventure through the young kaldorei's body. "Though our world was more savage. Or so I'm told." Jur furrowed his brow and stared at the orc inquisitively.

"You mean you don't know?" he asked.

"No. I was born here on Azeroth, after our kind had crossed through a great gate known as the Dark Portal to this world. All that I know of this world had been passed down to me from tales of the elders within the Horde." Jur pondered his words for a moment, unsure of which question to ask next. For he had many.

"Can't you go back?" he asked, to which Thrall remorsefully shook his head.

"Our world is gone," he said solemnly. "The Dark Portal's connection was severed, forever cutting us off from our homeworld. And the portal was opened using demonic magics. Such practices destroyed our home and forever sullied our image in the eyes of the elements. Those ways are banned from our Horde. Instead we turn to the ways of shamanism like the days of old, cooperating with the spirits of the earth, wind, and water."

"Hmm…" Jur said to himself. So the orcs did not always wield demon magic. Instead, they lived in harmony with nature as the kaldorei did. Now the rabbit hole had grown deeper. "What was your world like? And what brought you here?"

"As I said, I had never been there myself. But my mentors and allies tell me much what Draenor used to be. It was a rugged and savage land. Both beautiful and deadly." His rose resonated with nostalgia for a world he never knew, and Jur could not help but be lost in it. Tales of the past and other worlds, of lives and experiences he never knew. It was exhilarating.

"Before the Horde, my people lived in separate clans. Mine was the Frostwolves. There were many others such as the Warsong, Laughing Skull, Burning Blade, Blackrock, Shadowmoon, and Shattered Hand to name a few. Though our lifestyles varied, we were a warrior-shamanistic people at peace with the elements. But life on Draenor was not easy for an orc. The great beasts and people I was told inhabited the land were unlike anything I've seen here. The elders spoke of mighty ogres, brutes of immeasurable strength and magical prowess who we warred with for years. They flew under the flag of the Gorian Empire and would enslave anyone they didn't kill to fight as gladiators in the Highmaul arena."

Jur frowned at his words. A ruling magical society that lauded over everyone with their power. This Gorian Empire reminded him of the Kaldorei Empire of old. Though Alliance records indicated ogres were merely dumb brutes. How they amassed an empire was a captivating mystery to him.

"My mentor Drek'Thar told me tales of even stranger life. Of plantlike men who walked upright as you and I called botani. Made of wood and leaves, they could manipulate the very greenery around them. Then there are the towering gronn, one eyed brutes as large as mountains capable of crushing dragons with their bare hands. There are also the saberon, catlike men that fought with the ferocity of animals but could reason like men. Stranger still are the mysterious birdmen called the arakkoa, who tore their own society apart with a civil war. Had he not spoken these words himself, I would declare them mere fairy tales." Jur stared at Thrall in complete awe. Tree elementals and animal people. Azeroth and this Draenor were similar in so many ways, it made his head spin. "But the most tragic tale was of the draenei."

"Draenei?" Jur repeated.

"They gave Draenor its name, for we had none to offer it. They were blue beings from beyond the stars, refugees from a dying world similar to us now. They bore tentacles on their face, walked on cloven feet, and sported tails." Jur squinted, the druid going through his memory. This description sounded eerily familiar to a great demon his kind faced in the War of the Ancients. He glared intensely as he recalled exactly who it was. Archimonde the Defiler, eredar demon and commander of the Burning Legion. The foul hellspawn had killed the kaldorei's great demigod in single combat, the white stag Malorne.

"Tell me more of these draenei," Jur asked warily.

"They had come to Draenor long ago, and my ancestors welcomed them," Thrall explained. "We taught them the gift of shamanism, and in exchange, they offered us magical secrets to aid us in our fight against the Gorian Empire." Thrall then sighed, his head hanging heavy as he looked ahead. "And they were betrayed." Jur could hear the sorrow in his voice, and he didn't like where this story was headed.

"How'd it happen?"

"Many years ago, a great shaman of the Shadowmoon Clan named Ner'zhul was contacted by the spirit of his ancestors. They warned him and the other shaman that the draenei had come to destroy us. Far too late did Ner'zhul find out that he was deceived, as the spirits were members of the Burning Legion in disguise." Jur clenched his fist in anger, cursing the Legion under his breath. So Azeroth had not been their only victim. "He tried to reverse it but was betrayed."

"By who?" Thrall clenched his jaw and scowled at the road ahead as he recalled the tale Drek'Thar had recounted.

"His apprentice, Gul'dan." Thrall's voice dripped with malice at the mention of his name. "He usurped his master and embraced the Legion's power, becoming a warlock. Our society began to change. Orcs were being rounded up to fight one another continuously, his order of warlocks grooming us into an army. The final nail in the coffin was when he gathered the clans to Tanaan Jungle and had them drink the blood of Mannoroth." The kaldorei's temper flared up when that name graced his floppy ears.

"Mannoroth..." Jur growled. "It seems we share a common enemy." The orc raised an eyebrow curiously.

"You know of him?" Thrall asked. A grave nod opened for Jur's response.

"Ten thousand years ago, he and the rest of the Burning Legion had invaded Azeroth, having allied themselves with the magical rulers of our ancient empire, the Highborne. His strength was mighty, and only our demigod Cenarius could withstand him in single combat." Thrall stared perplexed at the kaldorei.

"Ten thousand years…" he repeated. Such a tale of longevity humbled the orc. This kaldorei was his elder, despite his youthful appearance. Jur nodded.

"We night elves can live for a long time." This was only half true as their longevity was only possible thanks to the Well of Eternity. With it gone, they were mortal and could age. And eventually die. The night elf stopped, his mind becoming heavy as the revelation set in. He had no idea how old he was. How long did he have left? His emerald tomb seemed to have preserved him remarkably well, but the druid had never contemplated his own mortality before. He scoffed and shook his head, more focused on the orcs' history than himself. "Continue."

"My clan and a handful of others were all that refused to drink, out of concern," Thrall started up again. "If only the others had shared their sentiments. Gul'dan had brought the clans together under one name: the Horde. And he sent them out to tear Draenor apart, slaughtering innocents left and right." His voice shook with the weight of the past. Despite never seeing such atrocities, the knowledge of their existence in history was a great burden upon the warchief. The innocent deaths weighed heavily upon his soul. A notion Jur could relate to.

"The demon blood had transformed them, their skin turned green and minds consumed by rage. My comrade Saurfang had described it to me, that they were aware of their actions but felt no morality. Any semblance of a conscience had been replaced by the whispers of demons. And the radiation that resonated from the foul fel energy twisted and corrupted the land, killing the wildlife and choking the earth." Thrall held a hand above his eyes and scanned the horizon. "The trees are clearing. Soon, we will be among the marshy flatlands. Then it will be a trek uphill where we will finally reach the Barrens."

"Go on, go on," Jur said, his voice resonating with intense interest. "I need to here more." Thrall smiled to himself. For the longest time, he was in the kaldorei's position, asking questions to the elders to fill his empty head. Now he was the elder, relatively speaking.

"Gul'dan had completed his Dark Portal and sent our people through it," Thrall continued. "I was born on the other side. My parents Durotan and Draka had enough of what Gul'dan had changed us into. So they fled with me into the wilds. But Gul'dan was devious and crafty. He had assassins follow my parents and killed them."

"How did you survive?"

"A human saved my life, oddly enough." Jur stared at him blankly, blinking in surprise. "Forgive me. Humans are enemies of the Horde from across the sea. Their skin is pink, and they walk on two legs like we do. Only they are significantly shorter. Sometimes, I forget there are those who have no idea of the land where we sailed from." The kaldorei's expression did not change. Still shock and confusion resonated on his face. Out of all the ways he expected to hear Thrall survived, he did not at all anticipate human involvement. A human showed compassion and care for a small orc babe. Although, considering the way Thrall's tale had twisted and turned, Jur expected only bad things.

"We had fought the humans across the sea and lost. The Dark Portal was lost, and its destruction cut off the demons from the orcs. Their hold over us was lost, and only then did the Horde really feel the weight of what they had done. Saurfang described it as years of guilt hitting you at once combined with intense withdrawals of fel energy. Our people fell into a lethargy and were rounded up into internment camps." Jur nodded, chewing on his bottom lip as he mulled his information over. The internment camps were spoken about briefly in the books, but not much was really noted on them.

"What were they like?" Jur asked. "Were you even in one?" Thrall nodded.

"My savior also turned out to be my jailor. Aedelas Blackmoore. He ran Durnholde Keep where the orcs toiled while I was forced to fight in his makeshift gladiator arena." Jur frowned, rubbing a finger against his chin. As he expected, things were not turning out well. "A child slave made to fight for the pinkskin's amusement. It's why I bare the name Thrall. His idea of a joke." The kaldorei's frown deepened. The Horde had done many terrible things to the humans, but for the Alliance to exploit a small child? To damn him to servitude and treat him lesser for crimes he didn't commit? The crime of being alive? It sickened Jur to his core. "And there were other atrocities. The guardsmen would… help themselves to our women at their leisure." The orc clenched his fist at the mere thought of it. "Seen as beasts, no one cared if orcish women were violated against their will."

"How could they treat you like that?" he asked. Thrall merely shook his head.

"Evil lurks in the heart of many men, even in those untouched by the Legion's fel magics," the orc stated. Jur's ears drooped, and a dissatisfied frown creased his face. Had the Alliance known about such a practice, or were they just aloof to it? This was not a convicted war criminal Blackmoore had enslaved. It was a child, just recently robbed from its dead parents. And the sexual abuse at the hands of men claiming to be protectors of peace and justice, nothing short of unspeakable.

"You must hate the humans then," he said.

"No." Jur's mouth hung slightly ajar, his eyes half open as his mind struggled to make sense of his response.

"B-but they-they enslaved you!" Jur stammered, still processing Thrall's response and piecing together his own as he spoke. "You were a child! And your women-"

"None of which is excused," Thrall stated sternly. "Those who did their crimes were made to pay, but I do not wish war on the humans. For it was a human that freed me." Jur fell into silence. "A young woman named Taretha had been my only friend for years. She was Blackmoore's… servant." Jur felt a shiver of unease run up his spine as he sensed the disdain in Thrall's voice. His face curled up into an uncomfortable grimace as the warchief's implication set in further, intrusive mental images forming. Whoever this Blackmoore was, he did little to represent the Alliance favorably. "One night, she assisted in helping me escape. It was thanks to her that the Horde has a second chance." The orc let out a heavy sigh, looking away solemnly towards the road. "If only she had not paid such a hefty price." Jur glanced aside at Thrall and bit down on his bottom lip in apprehension.

"What happened, dare I ask?" Thrall's grip tightened around the reins of his dire wolf.

"When I had escaped, I found the remnants of the Horde hiding in the forest. We decided enough was enough and would free our brethren from the internment camps. For her kindness, Taretha was beheaded by Blackmoore." Jur let out an offended grunt, swinging his fist in anger. The willingness to forsake an innocent life. The exploitation of women and children. Was this the world he had to live in now? The guilty deserved punishment but not at the expense of innocent people. The kaldorei seethed to himself, remembering his own mistreatment and abuse from others thousands of years ago. Memories he tried to bury resurfaced but were quickly pushed back into the miasma of the back of his mind with a sharp inhale through his nose. He had always been told the future was to be more advanced, where society would be more accommodating for all. Now those words seemed to mock him.

"Bastard," Jur growled lowly. Thrall nodded. "I hope he got what he deserved."

"I killed him along with the others guilty of injustices done against us," the orc said. Jur smirked and nodded, feeling righteousness in his chest. Perhaps this new world was not completely without its goods if the weak could rise up and punish the bad. "Our leader, Orgrim Doomhammer, was killed in battle. With his dying wish did I become the new warchief. We cut a swathe through the internment camps, freeing our men and sparing the lives of the humans who surrendered."

"And then you came here," Jur said.

"Indeed," Thrall said. "We resolved to find a new life for ourselves in this land. The Horde has committed its share of crimes. Even though the Legion made us what we are, the blood on our hands cannot be washed away so easily. The Horde will make up for what it has done, but it will be done on our terms. We will not be subservient to the Legion or the humans ever again. And if the humans will not give us peace, we will give them war." Jur could not hide the satisfied smile on his face from Thrall's words. This was a man who would not fold or back down nor compromise the integrity of his people. A strong leader if there ever was one.

"We stole the humans' ships and sailed here to this land. Far away from the humans and their camps." The smile then faded off the druid's face as fast as it had arrived. His eyes were wide as he anxiously peered at the orc through the corners. The Alliance was headed inland where the orcs were. The kaldorei hoped that by some comedic miracle, the two would completely miss one another.

"So what made you come to Kalimdor?" Thrall chuckled.

"It's rather amusing," he said. "Such a grand story that even explaining it to others sounds unbelievable. I was visited by a mysterious prophet who warned me of the Legion's return. He pointed the way to Kalimdor, claiming it to be our salvation." Jur felt an intense chill run up his spine at his words.

"…A prophet?" he asked.

"Indeed. I would not believe it either had I not seen it with my own eyes." Jaina had mentioned a prophet as well, guiding them to Kalimdor. Now the Horde claimed the same thing. This prophet had guided them both here, with the promise of salvation from the Legion. What is this supposed prophet planning with them? He chewed on the inside of his cheek, anxious at the thought of being a pawn in someone else's grand scheme. And with the Legion and two warring factions mixed in on his ancient homeland made the scales higher.


	6. Upon the Barrens' Wind

The Barrens lived up to its name, the land dry and hot. Long rolling plains of savannah grass stretched as far as the eye could see, a couple isolated mountains in the distance. What little foliage there was were scattered baobob trees and patches of brambles nesting in mountain corners. Small oases could be found, even rarer finds than the shade of trees. Jur remembered the land as beautiful rolling forest, now lost to time and replaced with such unforgiving land. The kaldorei missed the cool dampness of Dustwallow Marsh.

Thrall had provided the druid with many answers to his burning questions, but more would manifest themselves once they arrived at the camp. It was a meager settlement, clearly made to be a temporary stop. The people in it were of more interest to Jur than the camp itself, however. Dozens of orcs turned their attention to him, eyeing him with surprise, interest, and suspicion. Some wore heavy plate armor while others wore furs and leather skins. What surprised the druid even more than seeing more orcs were the others amongst Thrall's Horde. The blue men with long tusks and wild colorful hair watched him, tending their spears and raptor mounts. They were trolls, specifically jungle trolls. It had been long rumored that the kaldorei race had descended from trolls. Dark trolls that had drank and soaked themselves in the waters of the Well of Eternity, its magics transforming them into what they were now. Although, such theories were highly controversial in the eyes of the Highborne as the Kaldorei Empire had been at war with the twin troll empires of the Gurubashi and Amani Tribes.

The war had been long before Jur's time, and he had never seen a troll. Only read about them in books and heard them described in tales from wandering adventurers. They stood with a hunch and smelled strongly of herbal medicines. The blue trolls peered at him cautiously, whispering to themselves in their stranger accents. The kaldorei's long ears allowed him to pick up snippets of their conversations.

What surprised Jur more than their appearance was the presence of the tauren, anthropomorphic bovine men that had lived alongside the kaldorei in ancient times. They had studied the art of druidism under Cenarius like the kaldorei did. Though their longevity and political presence was vastly smaller compared to the kaldorei, they were not to be underestimated. Jur had lots of respect for the tauren after their leader Huln Highmountain had stood alongside them during the War of the Ancients. They were a kind and peaceful people, and them placing their trust in the orcs was a major endorsement.

"You two," Thrall said, pointing at some grunts. "Gather our guest some supplies as tribute. He aided the Horde this day."

Thrall dismounted from his dire wolf and led the kaldorei to an overlook of the savannah. The trolls took the pouches filled with the venom sacs from the wolf's saddle over to their alchemy stand. Two men were waiting by an unlit pyre. Both were men significantly older than the warchief. One was an orc donned in heavy plate armor, spikes erecting from his shoulderpads. A heavy armored brace surrounded his neck, and a double-edged axe with a skull between the blades was slung over his shoulder. Twin grey braids descended down his chest.

The other was a grey tauren, horns curving down and sticking out from his head. Three braids hung down, two from his head and one from his chin. A headdress of similar design to Jur's sat on his head, with his armor being leather harnesses and two tanned shoulderpads. Engraved and colored totem poles sat on his back. The old tauren leaned on his polearm, planted in the grass. He turned to face the druid and smiled.

"Well, by the Earthmother," he said, his voice elderly but calming. "The kaldorei have graced us with their presence. Ishne'alo'porah."

"You know of his people?" The old chieftain used his polearm as a cane and clambored over to the both of them.

"Certainly. Our great savior Huln Highmountain led his tribe alongside the kaldorei against the Legion your people once fought, Thrall. Though they have hidden away for quite some time. Where did you find this one?"

"He saved my life in the marsh," Thrall said. "This is Lavernius Jur."

"Greetings, sir," the druid replied. "It's an honor to meet you."

"I am Cairne, chief of the Bloodhoof tauren." Jur bowed respectfully before the seasoned elder. The kaldorei sensed great wisdom within the man. Spoke softly and carried a big stick. Literally, in this case.

"And this is my second-in-command, Varok Saurfang." The orc saluted him, and Jur saluted in turn. "Has there been any sighting of Grom?"

"No, sir," Saurfang stated. "Hellscream has not been found, but our scouts have yet to return. Perhaps they will bring good news along the winds." Thrall let out a huff

"So what has brought the kaldorei from their slumber, might I ask?" Cairne stroked his beard braid as he peered at the night elf. Thrall chuckled and patted the druid on his shoulder.

"He just woke up, he says," the orc jested. Cairne let out a chuckle of his own.

"A nap in these trying times. How I envy you, young one." The anxiousness Jur felt from being surrounded by so many orcs

"Asleep for ten thousand years, sir," the druid replied.

"If only my beauty sleep left me looking that youthful," the chieftain joked. "But no doubt you have questions, those that young Thrall cannot answer for you."

"I've talked the boy's head off the whole time we ventured back," Thrall said. "I'm not sure there's any more room in his head for stories."

"No, no," Jur insisited, nodding eagerly at the elder tauren. "Please tell me more. How and why you joined the Horde. About the Barrens. Tell me anything!" Cairne let out a hearty laugh.

"The boy's insistence to learn is refreshing," he said, patting the kaldorei on his shoulder. "If only more were as eager to learn of the past as you." They started a fire and gathered before it, the chieftain recounting the tales and history of this land and their adventures with the Horde. A boar was cooking over the flames as the men sipped moonberry juice and human ale.

Thrall had saved the trolls from a sea witch on an island near a giant whirlpool referred to as the Maelstrom. Before his death, their leader Sen'jin pledged his Darkspear tribe to aid the Horde in their quest to Kalimdor. Cairne possessed a similar story, of Thrall saving from the marauding centaur that threatened to wipe them out. These centaur disturbed Jur, described as half men and horse that descended from one of Cenarius' sons. The legends, according to Cairne, claimed that his son Zaetar had fallen in love with the elemental Theradras, princess of the mysterious elemental lord known as Therazane. The centaur cannibalized their own father and cut a bloody swathe throughout Kalimdor.

Then there were the quillboar, anthropomorphic pig men that lived in savage warrior tribes ruled by shaman. They stayed near the bramble patches but were given a wide berth, their ferocity in combat not be to underestimated. The tauren believed them to be the offspring of the wild god Agamaggan, the giant boar killed by Mannoroth thousands of years ago. Jur remembered hearing how the Wild Gods were butchered

Further still were the harpies, fair looking women that resembled elves but with the wings and legs of birds. They stayed to the baobob groves farther north but were savage fighters that needed to be avoided at all costs. Their origin was muddled with some claiming them to be the fallen descendants of the Ancient Guardian Aviana, killed in battle against demons ten thousand years ago. Others believed them to be night elf women who were cursed after betraying Queen Azshara. Darker still were the rumors that to procreate, they kidnapped kaldorei men and kept them as sex slaves to continue their flock before feeding them to their children.

Such savagery rivaled even Thrall's tales of ancient Draenor. The untamed and vicious wilds of Kalimdor troubled Jur but not as much as the absence of the kaldorei. How could beings of such great power and influence with a strong connection to nature allow their home to fall into such disrepair? The tauren were their ancient allies, and the kaldorei were just content to let them be wiped away. Where were they?

"Now we are on our way the verdant grasslands of Mulgore," Cairne said. "There we will have a safe land all our own, a permanent home where my tribe can raise families proper without living in fear of the centaur. It is a few days' walk from here, and so far, things are going smoothly."

"Then we will continue our search for the Oracle," Thrall interjected.

"The Oracle?" Jur asked.

"Cairne claims it is what we seek, but we must aid him before we search on our own."

"Fair is fair, I suppose." Jur munched on his leg of pig roast absently, peering into the fire. Cairne looked the boy over and recognized the look on his face.

"You are troubled," he said, the kaldorei's gaze shifting to him. "Your thoughts weigh heavy on your mind." Jur sighed and sipped his moonberry juice.

"It's just… look at everything," Jur said. "Look at what happened to Kalimdor. The kaldorei are just letting everything fall apart. How could they do this?"

"After the War of the Ancients, the kaldorei retreated further into the Ashenvale Forest. The Highborne's sins had damaged their pride, and they took on a more isolationist standing. You are the first kaldorei I have ever seen, young one." Jur ran a finger over his top lip, still peering into the fire. The more questions he asked, the less satisfying answers he got. The thoughts that hung in his head back in Dustwallow Marsh returned.

"Do you think they're all gone?" he asked.

"Ha," Cairne said. The old tauren slapped his furry knee in amusement. "Certainly not. The kaldorei may be hidden, but they cannot just disappear from the mortal world altogether. Were they all wiped away, we would have our answer. There's no doubt in my mind they still live and breathe." Jur sighed with relief. Cairne was chieftain for a reason, that much he could see. His words and voice were inspiring as well as calming. But an old concern crept upon him.

If the kaldorei still lived, he was in danger. He squinted as the sun shined in his eyes. The kaldorei lifted a hand to cover them as he peered to the horizon. The sun had descended, changing the color of the sky to an orange. The night would be upon them in a couple of hours. Thrall, Cairne, and Saurfang peered towards the horizon, basking in the warmth. The three rose from the fire and stood upon the rocks to gaze over the savannah. Jur lifted himself up and joined them, inhaling softly at the sight. His whole life, he was used to the sight of purples. To see a bright orange sky was a beautiful sight.

"It's quite beautiful," Jur mused.

"Indeed," Cairne said, nodding. "Though the Barrens are a cruel and unforgiving landscape, there is beauty in it. The hushed silence, the blue skies, and the great beasts that make their homes upon the savannah. A land to be admired as well as respected. And not for the faint of heart."

"Drek'Thar described a land similar to this back on Draenor," Thrall said. "He called it Nagrand. Said the hills rolled on with green and yellow grass, with great beasts similar to your own. Herds of talbuk strode across the grassy fields. They were furry elegant creatures with horns." The tauren stroked the braided beard dangling from his chin in contemplation.

"They sound similar to the gazelle that graze upon the grasses," Cairne noted. "Curious that your home across the stars sports animals similar to our own. Yet, it is not connected."

"Perhaps it's an example of convergent evolution," Jur said, their gazes turning to him. He took a sip of his cup to keep his throat from being dried out by the dust and heat. "My master taught me long ago that animals evolve in certain ways depending on their environment. Though your gazelle and talbuk aren't related, their similar environments caused them to turn out the way they did."

"Very astute," Cairne commended, stroking his braid. "The kaldorei have always had a great affinity for nature."

"The elements work in mysterious ways indeed," Thrall said with an impressed smile. The sound of footprints in the dust and barking took their attention off the druid and to behind them. An orc sporting a wolf pelt on his head had arrived. He hopped off his canine mount and approached the warchief with a salute. "Report."

"My apologies, sir," he said. His voice was not as deep as Thrall's but did contain more grit. An equal dryness that made Jur fight the urge to clear his own throat. "We have been unable to find Hellscream."

"Damn," Thrall growled.

"Do you believe he still lives?" the scout asked.

"Of course. Grom is the toughest warrior I know. None of these local beasts could fell him in combat. After we escort the tauren to Mulgore, we shall continue the search." The scout saluted in acknowledgement. "Jur, this is Nazgrel, captain of my security force. Nazgrel, this is Lavernius Jur. He saved my life this day and is a welcome guest amongst the Horde." The orc nodded and extended his hand to the elf. Jur shook it eagerly.

"Greetings, stranger," Nazgrel said. "Will you be joining us on our way to Mulgore?" As Jur opened his mouth to respond, his voice was caught in his throat. The gravity of his situation had just set in. Here was an opportunity to venture further with the Horde and learn more of the tauren and trolls. But it would take him farther away from his Alliance allies, and he had already been gone for hours. No doubt Jaina had gotten wise to his absence and was worried for him. Maybe even sending out scouting regiments. Regiments that could stumble their way onto the Horde or worse yet, the kaldorei. Not to mention, the sky was starting to fade to a soft orange. Night would soon be upon them.

"No," he said abruptly. "Though I would like to, I need to get home. It's late, and I have people waiting on me."

"But I thought you said you haven't seen anyone else," Thrall said. A chill ran down Jur's spine as he realized his fatal slipup. The breath caught in his throw as his mind raced at lightspeed to concoct a suitable reply. Something to cover his faux pas.

"Uhhh… w-well…" Mentally, the druid chided his verbal fumbling. These hulking brutish warriors were looking him over expectantly. "I meant, not other night elves. Just people…" His answer was technically correct so he could thankfully avoid feeling guilt for lying to them. But from the looks on their faces, his clumsy gamble wasn't enough.

"Who might they be?" Thrall inquired. "Perhaps they could aid us in our trek to Mulgore." The sweat on Jur's brow increased tenfold. He had not anticipated the warchief to corner him like this. There was no feasible way he could reveal he was going back to the Alliance. Not if he wanted to remain alive, in any case.

"Oh… y-you know…" A forced smile stretched its way across the kaldorei's face, revealing his fangs. The perplexed blink in response from the warchief only served to make Jur's gut squirm. His neck burned at how utterly stupid he must have sounded. He could feel the awkwardness physically crushing his chest. "I should be going now…" As he started to step back, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulderpad.

"I believe the warchief asked you a question," Nazgrel stated. Silently, the druid gulped down the knot in his throat. It would be unwise to upset the orcs. Especially the ones equipped with large axes and maces. But what other alternative did he have? Perhaps he could chance it and run away, shifting to cat form and skulking into the shadows. But he still had so much to learn about the Horde and its people. And they genuinely seemed like noble individuals, a far cry from the Alliance's personification of them.

"Ummm…"

"Very well then." Jur choked back the sigh of relief from Thrall's words. Nazgrel lifted his hand off and stepped back. The orc extended his hand to Jur, who shook it gratefully. "Watch yourself on your way back. Go with honor, friend." The druid felt a relaxed smile form on his face. But the tense knot in his chest would only dissipate when he returned to camp.

"And you as well." With their permission, the kaldorei shifted to a mighty stag and strode off back towards Dustwallow. His silhouette faded along the horizon, and Thrall's gracious smile was replaced with a suspicious stare. And from the looks upon the others' faces, he was not alone in how he felt.

"He's hiding something from us. But why? We've given him no reason to distrust us." Nazgrel tautly gripped the reins of his dire wolf.

"Should we tail him, warchief?" the orc asked. "Perhaps find who his allies are on our own if he wishes to remain secretive." The rider's skin itched at the thought of being kept in the dark. Secrecy had led to the downfall of the orcish people, after all.

"No need." The wolfrider relaxed his grip on the reins at the warchief's behest. "Our journey takes us to Mulgore. We cannot spare any men for a trip back into the marsh."

"Agreed," Saurfang stated. The orc was penning lines across the makeshift map of the Barrens crafted by the tauren. Their path to the verdant plains would be a long and uneasy one, with the wild beasts and savage tribes of beastmen nipping at their heels. But he had spent years fighting humans and demons. A few small marauding tribes would not bring him down. "Still, his response was rather cryptic. Don't you agree, Thrall?"

"Without a doubt." The shaman strode over to look over the map. "I'm not keen on a lack of answers. Or vague ones, for that matter."

"Can we trust him, warchief?" Nazgrel spoke. "It is my charge to protect you and the interests of the Horde. Any potential threats should be regarded with concern."

"No need to stress your mind, young warrior," Cairne said, running his hand along his braided beard. A content smile rested upon his face. Thrall squinted as he took note of the knowing twinkle in his eye.

"Do you know something, Cairne?" The tauren leaned on his polearm and stared out across the horizon. The orange glow of the sunset bathed the savannah, accentuating the already beautiful golden glow of the landscape.

"There is a story passed down from the ancient days of Huln Highmountain. Stories of the kaldorei. It is too early to claim anything for now, but the circumstances of his presence are peculiar…" The chieftain had heard many tales of the kaldorei, passed down from ruler to ruler. His father and his father before him. Huln Highmountain, the origin of the centaur and the night elves, the yaungol and the taunka, and the Betrayal. There was one such story that he vaguely recounted, a minor one from the War of the Ancients. Nothing of major note to his people, but it was a major occurrence to the kaldorei. It was a bit of a stretch to his old mind, he would admit. But the tauren had seen so much peculiarity in the past few days. An alliance with the trolls and now these greenskin foreigners? Had he not seen it himself, he'd have deemed it an old wives' tale.

Cairne firmly believed it to be a mere coincidence. This newcomer had to be nothing more than a traveler. Still, if his flight of fancy had any grounding, things might grow interesting real fast. That is, if they met again.


	7. Revelation

Further into the Stonetalon caverns did Jaina lead her expedition force. Halford Wymbane and High Priest Rohan stayed close by her side while Jur lingered behind. The druid held his staff in both hands, fingers twitching nervously. Behind them, a platoon of Alliance forces followed. Whatever was dwelling within Stonetalon Peak, they were more than adequately prepared for. The past week and a half had certainly been busy for both the Alliance and the Horde. Jur's thoughts frequently turned to Thrall and the others, wondering what they were up to.

Against his wishes, the Horde and Alliance had run into one another. Scouts and survivors along Barrens outposts reported attacks by a hulking orc warrior sporting a wicked battleaxe. Alliance intelligence and resources recognized him from his actions during the Second War. Grommash Hellscream. Jur remembered that Thrall had been actively searching for him. Skirmishes were occurring along the Barrens frequently. Their war across the sea now raging here in the ancient homeland. They were already struggling to face the Scourge and the Legion. Did they have to wage war amongst each other as well? Jur's fears were only compounded upon with Jaina's decision to enter the Peak. The young mage had sensed extraordinary power emanating from within. Perhaps this was the Oracle Cairne had told Thrall to search. If they somehow met within the peak, it would be all out war. Even worse, he would be discovered, and his allegiance would be questioned by both sides. The good friends he had made would turn against him.

"Yeh alright, laddie?" Jur snapped his head over to face his dwarven companion. Rohan's comforting voice and demeanor eased the kaldorei's troubled mind. Priests were experts in calming the ill at ease. That much, he knew from experience. The druid cleared his throat and adjusted his posture to exude more of an air of confidence.

"Just not looking forward to being underground again is all," he said. It was not an honest response, but the half-truth existed for a reason. After being trapped inside that cave at the mercy of the priestesses, Jur could do without being in an underground cave for the rest of his days.

"I like it," Rohan remarked. "Reminds me ah home." The druid found himself chuckling with amusement at the dwarf.

"I'd like to see it one day," Jur answered. The literature detailing Ironforge no doubt failed to hold a candle to witnessing the real thing in all its glory. A city beneath a mountain with rivers of lava flowing beneath. It sounded like quite the spectacle. Once this was all over and he could venture back to the Eastern Kingdoms with Jaina, it would be one of his first stops. That is, if the undead hadn't taken it already.

The musty air beneath the mountain was hot, amassing a fine sweat atop their brows and neck. A dry heat, the absolute worst kind. Jur found himself missing the muggy but damp atmosphere of Dustwallow. Jaina had made great strides in their trek across Kalimdor. The Alliance were making a relatively sizable foothold in his homeland. Former homeland. He was no longer welcome here.

"Are you sure you're okay, Jur?" Jaina inquired as the candlelight spell led them deeper through the hollowed caverns. "I'm worried about you passing out again." Two days ago had been the most intense feelings of pain and nausea Jur hadn't felt since ten thousand years ago. His long slumber had partially deafened him to the call of the wild and the land surrounding him. Little by little were his druidic powers returning to somewhat full strength. During their journey to Stonetalon, something resonated within him. A familiar presence from millennia ago. Faint but he could feel it. Far across the land. It both comforted him and made him nervous. Then in the blink of an eye, silence. A great pain tore through his heart as though he had been stabbed. His vision grew blurry, his mind screamed, and the distant anguished cries of nature rang in his ears from so far away. Something was dreadfully wrong in Kalimdor. To have affected him so strongly, it had to be connected to nature in some way.

"I'm fine," he assured her with a friendly smile. "Just a little thirsty." Jur retrieved his waterskin and sipped the cool liquid. Its contents settled his uneasy stomach, but his mind burned with curiosity. How were the Horde fairing? What was this Oracle? And what was the cause of that disturbance? It seemed his plethora of questions grew more and more with each new day.

The tunnel they were following opened up into an enormous cavern. Within the cavern were structures carved by hand through stone. Moats of magic fire burned, lining the great opening. Someone else had been here before them, long ago. Perhaps the Oracle's work.

"What in the world…" Jaina breathed, holding a hand to her mouth. "I sense great magic emanating within here."

"What exactly are we supposed to be looking at? Or for?" Wyrmbane inquired. The young mage had no definite answers for them. They were all equally stunned in their attempts to decipher this place.

"This nae be dwarven architecture, I'll tell ye that much," Rohan noted. The dwarves were expert sculptors and architects, but this was not their style. It was an incredibly simple system of platforms and stairs carved into the grey stone.

"It's not kaldorei either," Jur noted. Couldn't have been troll either. The treasures and spoils of war stored in museums were always exotically crafted, either from gold, stone, or wood. These were bare bones structures with no discernable markings whatsoever. A complete lack of culture. The rest of the Alliance forces funneled in and kept a decently sized circle around Jaina. There was no telling what else was inside this place besides them. Besides a large center platform, the only other thing of note was an entrance across the way from them. An entrance now being graced by some sort of light. One that was growing more prominent.

Jur's eyes widened as his large ears picked up on another sound. The sound of muffled footsteps. Mail, plate, and hoof met his ears, crunching into the gravel and clacking on the rock. The druid hoped in vain that it was not who he thought it would be. He closed his amber eyes and hoped it would just disappear.

"Orcs!" Jaina's voice reverbed off the cavern walls. The unsheathing of swords rang out to Jur like nails on a chalkboard. As Jur opened his eyes, his biggest fears were realized. Thrall led the crew of orcs, tauren, and trolls into the cavern. Like the Alliance, they had their weapons drawn. Troll headhunters formed a wall of spears, countered by the platoon of dwarven riflemen lining up. "I knew we were being followed! Defend yourselves!"

"Lok-Narash!" Thrall barked, Doomhammer sparking in his hand. Cairne met at his side with his heavy polearm while Nazgrel and Saurfang stood at his left. Orcish axes versus Alliance swords. Each faction held their ground accordingly, scrambling into position for an all-out assault. The stone walls and floors would run red with blood today, it seemed. "You dare follow us, human? Have we not suffered enough?"

"Don't talk to me about suffering, you giant green oaf!" Jaina taunted back. She aimed her staff at the orc warchief with malice. "Your tricks won't work on me like they did on King Llane! You followed us here, and you will meet your end here as well!" Wyrmbane readied his sword while Rohan channeled the holy Light through his gloved hands. Jur hovered towards the back, hoping not to be seen by the Horde. He was now truly in a precarious situation. His two allies were now about to come to blows. With lethal intent. No matter who came on top, he would end up losing. After getting another chance to walk the earth and make new friends, it was too cruel for fate to try and take them away. That is, if he believed in fate. This was more like an unfortunate game of chance, and the odds were stacked against him. But he couldn't stand by and let this unfold. Not without a fight.

"Wait!" The druid rushed to the front and stood before Jaina, arm held out. "Don't fight them! They don't mean any harm!" The mage stared at him in utter surprise with widened blue eyes. She took hold of his arm and pulled her behind him.

"Get back, Jur!" she warned. "You've never fought orcs before! You don't know what they're capable of!"

"Warchief!" Nazgrel pointed to the kaldorei, who ducked behind Jaina in an attempt to hide. Far too late for that now. "They have captured our ally!" Thrall bared his tusks angrily and twisted the handle of his signature weapon in his hand.

"Unhand Jur, you pinkskinned cowards!" the shaman ordered. "You will not lock him in one of your internment camps like you did us!"

"What are you talking about!?" Jaina proclaimed. Rohan tugged at Jur's robe to gain his attention.

"How'd they know ye, laddie?" A knot of tension formed in the druid's throat. No matter who won, they would have a ton of questions for him. And he was in no position to answer them.

"Enough talk!" the mage stated, channeling a frostbolt through her staff. The blue crystal glowed and froze the air around it.

"Agreed," Thrall growled, the grooves along Doomhammer's metal glowing blue. The air crackled around the mighty hammer. Spinning his hammer, Thrall shot a bolt of lightning at the young human. Jaina countered it with a burst of pure ice. The different elemental magics were convening at the center. Each of them were equally skilled in magic, so their union would be greatly explosive. Jur worried the impact might cause the cave to collapse down upon them. And they would all be truly doomed.

"Wait!" he cried, running forward. "Don't do this!"

"STOP!" The bolt of lightning and fount of ice dissipated before their very eyes, swept up in a cyclone and fading into the atmosphere above. The crystal of Jaina's staff faded, its brilliant blue now reduced to a mottled grey. Doomhammer thudded onto the stone floor, feeling like lead in Thrall's hand. It had never felt so heavy before. A fine mist had amassed in the center from where the magic had been dispelled. As it cleared, a man adorned in old brown robes stood before them. A hood obscured his face, complimented by feathered pauldrons. He leaned against a wooden staff with a raven carved at the top. He held a finger and thumb up, pointing it at both Alliance and Horde. "There will be no violence in this place." His voice was one of great age and wisdom. And what he said was no suggestion. A command. Despite his outward appearance, he possessed great authority. And magical prowess from what Jur felt.

"That voice…" Thrall stroked his beard curiously, studying the old man with brilliant blue eyes. "You're no Oracle. You're the prophet!"

"It really is him…" Jaina muttered to herself.

"Looks as nutty as she described, too," Rohan said to Jur. The druid found himself at an utter loss for words. The prophet was here in Kalimdor too? Had he followed them here? What was his purpose for bringing the both of them together? His aversion to violence garnered Jur some degree of hope that they could walk out of this. But he was unsure of what to make of the old man still.

"Very perceptive, son of Durotan," the prophet said with a bow. The old man shuffled up onto the center platform, using his staff as a walking stick. "I am the prophet. And now that I've lured you all here, I will tell you what destiny holds." He gingerly waved all of them forward as he surveyed them. "Come forth. Meet one another and know the truth I have witnessed."

The two factions were very reluctant to approach. Jaina and Thrall maintained intense eye contact, their blue eyes burning as fiercely as the red fires that lined the cavern. Despite the prophet's calming words, the old tensions still won out. Though Jur could hardly blame them for their dragging feet. He had studied their history closely and knew personally that some wounds are difficult to heal, even after many years. But they would get nowhere with this stubborn aversion. With an uneasy gulp, Jur left the Alliance's side and approached the prophet. The old man gave him a content knowing smile.

"Ah, so it is you. After ten thousand years, you walk the earth again, Exile." Jur felt his heart stop, his breath being sucked harshly through his teeth. He felt as though he might collapse as his blood ran cold. The hairs on his neck stood up from the feeling of all eyes meeting him. Questioning, confused, and irritated.

"Exile?" Jaina repeated, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him.

"Wot this be about, laddie?" Rohan inquired.

"How do you know the Alliance?" Thrall growled, hands on his hips. "What the hell is going on here?!" The shaman ordinarily welcomed the search for answers, but now was not the right time. Grom's bloodlust troubled the warchief greatly, and the threat of the Burning Legion looming in the background only added fuel to the fire.

"Come closer, and you will learn all there is to, son of Durotan. I assure you." The shaman and the mage felt like pawns in some sort of game of chess. And neither were too thrilled about it. Both Jur and the prophet had much to answer for. However, they would find no answers in stonewalling the situation. With great hesitation did Jaina lead her Alliance forces closer to the prophet. Following her example, Thrall did the same. The factions made sure to give one another a wide berth as they convened. "Young Jaina, this is Thrall. Warchief of the Horde. Thrall, this is Jaina Proudmoore. Leader of the survivors of Lordaeron."

"…Survivors?" The humans would have no reason to follow the orcs to this land unless they wished to wage war. And it would have been more convenient for them to leave them be. With hundreds of miles of water separating them, they could completely avoid any more conflict. A notion Thrall wished for. The prophet seemed to know of these humans, perhaps even having guided them along to Kalimdor like he did them. And they had only been brought here to escape the threat of the Burning Legion. If the humans were here going under the name "survivors", then something truly devastating must have brought them here. Kalimdor was far too out of the way to warrant a simple fight. "What are you talking about?"

"The invasion of the Burning Legion has begun," the prophet stated. "Lordaeron has already fallen, and now the demons come to invade Kalimdor!" He pointed a solitary finger to Jur, a somber gaze peeking out from beneath his hood. "You have sensed it as well, haven't you, Exile?" A chill ran down Jur's spine from the prophet's words. He seemed to be aware of what had befallen him days ago. The sheer amount of pain and sickness caused from nature's suffering. This was the work of the Legion? "I have witnessed the devastation of the Legion firsthand, young ones. Through its eyes have I watched worlds burn and people suffer. Your apprehension of one another will only serve their plans. Divided, they will exploit your anger and lead you to your downfall. Only together, united against the shadow, will you be able to save this world from the flame."

Jaina and Thrall stared at the prophet with utter disbelief. He knew of their history, their struggles. And he asked them to stand side by side? Jur could hardly even fathom it. He knew of the Horde's history and how it had equally suffered as the Alliance did. But to get them to parley? It would have been a fool's errand! He trusted both Jaina and Thrall equally. They were honorable, brave, and kind souls leading their people through a foreign and hostile landscape. The last thing he wished was to be forced to choose between them. But setting aside years of differences and conflict was easier said than done.

"Unite with them?!" Jaina blurted out. "Are you mad?!" She had seen the way the Horde had devastated the Lordaeon countryside. The death of her brother Derek still remained a painful memory in her mind and heart. Though she was not unsympathetic to the orcs, having witnessed an orc family trying to rear their child in secret in an internment camp. Arthas held less sympathies for the green ones, but Jaina felt herself conflicted. They couldn't be simple monsters like her father believed. Something had curved their feral nature during their internment, and it certainly wasn't the camps themselves. But she was Alliance. They were Horde.

"Have you heard nothing that I've said?!" the prophet snapped. Jaina jolted a bit in surprise. Such a feeble looking old man bursting with such ire. "The Legion comes to undo history and end all life! You know firsthand what they are capable of, Exile. This is bigger than your Alliance or Horde. It concerns the fate of every people all across this world. And your resistance will only lead you to ruin." What the prophet said had definitely been true. The Burning Legion had almost succeeded ten thousand years ago. They had exploited the divide between the commoner kaldorei and the elite Highborne to gain their entrance into Azeroth. To feast off the magic of the Well of Eternity and cleave the planet in two. The kaldorei's civil division had shattered Kalimdor to pieces and rendered millions of people dead.

"Thrall, your friend Hellscream has already fallen under the demons' influence. Soon, he and your whole race will be lost forever!" The orc warchief felt his blood run cold at the prophet's words. Grom had been acting strange since arriving in Kalimdor. Headstrong, bloodthirsty, and ruthless. Even he warned it felt like the old days of warfare. Drek'thar had warned Thrall of the blood pact the orcs had inadvertently made with the pit lord Mannoroth under Gul'dan. The Legion was at work in Kalimdor, and Grom presented a great liability. Thrall did not understand what the prophet exactly meant by his words, but he knew they meant grave trouble.

"No… I'll die before I let that happen!" He had spent all of his life as a slave to humans, and most of his adult life fixing the Horde to restore their honor. They can never truly repay what they had done on Azeroth and Draenor. But they deserved a chance. Their past sins did not have to forever define them. And he wouldn't let them. The orcs would be free and have a place to call home where they did not have to wage senseless war. Even if it cost him his own life.

"Then you must rescue him immediately!" the prophet said, pointing at him. "He is the key to the destiny I promised you. However, you will need help."

"I'll help!" Jur blurted out. Thrall glanced over to his elven comrade, giving him a grateful nod. But the studious look in his blue eyes indicated he had many questions for him once this was all over. Questions Jur was not at all excited to answer.

"Wait! This is insane!" Jaina's mind raced at a thousand miles an hour as she struggled to make sense of all this. "You can't possibly expect me to-"

"Destiny is at hand, young sorceress," the prophet interrupted. "The time to choose has come." The ultimatum had been reached. Neither Alliance or Horde could beat the Legion on conventional terms or alone. It took the sacrifice of the Well of Eternity to stop the demons. How they could possibly stop them this time, Jur had absolutely no clue. But they had to try. "For the fate of all who live, humanity must join forces with the Horde."

* * *

The prophet had taken care to port them out of Stonetalon Peak, going off to do whatever needed doing. There were many plans in motion they were not privy to. Whoever this prophet was, he kept his cards close to his vest. Jur and the others would be a lot more untrusting under the usual circumstances. If it were an elaborate ruse, then what would the payoff be? What would he gain by lying or tricking them? Regardless, Jur was just relieved that nobody had to die. And that they were finally out of the caves.

"Thank goodness," he proclaimed as he surveyed the Stonetalon tree line. The arid air of the mountainside had cooled down as the setting sun made way for the night sky. The familiar and beloved twinkling stars could barely be made out along the horizon. "I hope wherever our journey takes us next is somewhere above ground, right?" His amused chuckle quickly faded as he turned to see Jaina and Thrall staring him down, looking greatly nonplussed. The others shared their sentiments equally and gazed upon him with judgmental eyes. Rohan seemed gentler and understanding but just as curious. Cairne's was a lot more curious, as he possessed a sort of knowing twinkle in his eye.

"You have some explaining to do," Jaina stated, folding her arms. "I've held my tongue long enough on your past. Now you owe me an answer. An actual one this time."

"Agreed," Thrall growled, resting his hands upon his plated belt. "We extended you our hospitality, and you kept secrets from us. Secrecy and deceit are what led the orcs down our forsaken path." Jur felt his heart sink into his stomach. He had tried to bury his past with this new chance at freedom, at another life after ten thousand years of being trapped in that infernal prison. Unconscious and cold, dreams and memories growing muddled. Sometimes, he wouldn't even dream at all. But no matter what, it truly seemed he could not run away from his past. Thrall's had come to chase him to this land. Suppose it was only fair his caught up with him as well. Though it did little to ease the stress he endured. His purple ears drooped.

"I can't stand deceivers," Nazgrel barked, sharpening his axe. "I say we cast him out." Jaina's cold stare darted to the orc with a disapproving glower.

"That is not your call to make," she lectured. "Mind your business, knave." Jaina did the best to channel her father when he disapproved of something. The orc seemed unphased by her posturing.

"I don't orders from you, pinkskin," he huffed without looking over to validate her. "I don't even think we need you humans. Your soft manflesh is too spongy, and your equipment too fragile. You wouldn't last in a real fight."

"We bested you, didn't we?" Jaina retorted with a dry smirk. "While you languished about in the camps." Nazgrel planted his axe into the dirt and took a step towards the mage with an accusing finger pointed at her.

"You'd do best not to insult my honor, girl."

"Nazgrel!" Thrall barked, holding his hand up. "Enough! Do not stir unnecessary conflict with our new allies." The wolfrider merely huffed and went back to tending to his axe. He held little trust for the humans, but Nazgrel believed in his warchief. And that was good enough in his eyes.

"Believe me, I'm not too thrilled about working with the Horde," Jaina scoffed. "How would we even trust these demon worshippers?"

"I hold no pleasure in cooperating with humans either," Thrall said, rolling his eyes. "Especially when they lock up children as slaves in their little camps. So much for human honor."

"What would you orcs know of honor? I heard of Garona Halforcen and her betrayal of King Llane! You lie and deceive like any other!"

"I know that honor does not consist of child slaves! And what of your Perenolde, girl? Your human noble betrayed your very own to the Orcish Horde, allowing them passage into Lordaeron. And even stealing the Book of Medivh from Dalaran to appease Gul'dan's lapdogs. And your Greymane? Turning his back upon your Alliance?" Jaina found herself at a temporary loss for words. This orc was certainly well informed, though he was Horde, after all. Who else but them would know of how their connections had spanned?

Jur's confidence began to waver as the two bickered back and forth. Under the prophet's word were they forbidden from exchanging blows. But this passive aggressiveness would only hinder their cooperation. They didn't have to like each other to fight for a common cause. But it definitely helped. More flies could be caught with honey than anything else. Jur saw the nobility and goodness in both of them. Why could they not see it in each other? Perhaps by cooperating, they could put their conflict behind them. No more war would have to be waged. The orcs could start over, and the humans could live in peace. It had to be better than senselessly slaughtering one another for vengeance.

"Guys, listen." Their attention fixated from one another to him. The druid fidgeted nervously as their eyes burned holes through him. It was like being under a microscope the way they scrutinized him. "Arguing isn't going to help. I know your people have history. Alliance and Horde have been in conflicted for so long, it seems like all you know. But this fight with the Legion is bigger than that. We need to trust each other like I trust you."

"You speak of trust yet refuse to tell me the truth," Jaina rebuked, hands on her hips. "I want to know why you were locked within that cave. Why you were trapped in those emeralds. Why you're an exile and why your people cast you out." Thrall stroked his beard curiously, his brow furrowed as he studied the kaldorei.

"So there is more that I do not know," he growled. Disappointment and distrust hung in his voice. It hurt Jur to be treated so. But he could hardly blame them. "Explain why I should trust you." A weary sigh escaped the kaldorei. It seemed no matter how he approached this, he would have to reveal his sordid shame in order to win them back. But that came with equally great risks. Would they accept him, or would they turn him away? Either way, he had no real choice.

"Fine." He lowered his gaze and stared upon the ground in defeat. "I'll tell you everything." They gathered around to listen. The tale was thousands of years old but still remained as fresh as a month ago within the druid's mind. "It was ten thousand years ago. What you know as the War of the Ancients. The Burning Legion had invaded Azeroth with the aid of the Highborne. I was barely more than a teenager in your human years back then." Tension choked his throat as he recounted the experience. His frame trembled delicately from the sheer anxiousness he was feeling. "I had a childish view of war back then. I wanted to be a hero and prove myself as equal as anyone else against the demons. Glory, fame, and admiration from… a girl." A dry chuckle escaped as he remembered what a fool he must have looked. Could he meet his younger self, he'd slap himself on the back of the head. His neck burned from the anxiety and the embarrassment he felt as he remembered his youth.

"An army of demons was making their way through a closely tucked valley. They had little room to maneuver, and it left them open to an ambush. I pleaded with my Shan'do – forgive me, I mean "Master" – to press the attack. I believed we could have won the fight. But my master believed otherwise. He had a vision of great death and strife if we went to that valley. I doubted him…" The look of betrayal and disappointment upon his former master's face was one he would never forget as long as he lived. Never had he wronged someone so greatly in his life. If he could take it all back, he would instantaneously. "I wanted so badly to be a hero. To be just as good as my master. Even better than him. So I…" He gulped down the knot in his throat. "I forged his signature to send the order. The army went to fight the demons. By the time he realized what had happened, it was too late."

Jur could still recall the scent of smoke that permeated the valley, the stench of burnt flesh and the brimstone of the demons. It made his head ache just thinking about it. "We faced the demons head on, but our battle was cut prematurely by the arrival of the black dragon Neltharion. Elf or demon, it mattered not. As he incinerated all of them in his fire. I was one of few to survive." His body ached with pain from the burning of nature around them. Not even the trees were spared of his wrath. The bodies of innocent soldiers trying to defend themselves or run for cover stood frozen. Rendered to mere charcoal by the intensity of the heat. Hundreds of men killed in the blink of an eye. All because of his childish act of defiance. "For my sins, I was stripped of my name and labeled an Exile. I was banished from Kalimdor, ordered to sail across the sea and never return. But I never did finish that trip. An order of priestesses cornered me and decided getting to run away was too good. So they used their magics to trap me in emerald. And then you freed me, Jaina."

A stunned unresponsive silence hung in the air. Each and every word Jur had delivered hung with self-disdain, regret, and exhaustion. Utter defeat was prominent on his face. Any hope he had of retaining respect in their eyes had dissipated with every detail he divulged. It was torturous to lose all he had worked hard to regain from his own deceit. Friends, allies, respect. All gone. Thrall's gaze had fallen, the warchief mulling over his words. Jaina chewed on her bottom lip with a somber expression.

"So that's the truth. It's not pretty, but there it is." He winced painfully and awaited their judgment. "You don't trust me… do you?" Thrall let out a heavy sigh, folding his arms as he studied the druid.

"You bare the weight of your folly, and you rightfully shoulder that blame," he stated. "I can respect that." Jur blinked in surprise to hear such understanding, but he was grateful to not be turned away. "The Horde itself shoulders a similar blame. What happened on Draenor can never be forgotten. And cannot be repeated here."

"We all have our sins to bare," Saurfang stated, taking his place at Thrall's side. "Like many others, I too drank the blood of Mannoroth. I killed many under the demon's direction. Sacked cities, helped take slaves, ended innocent lives. Those are wrongs that I live with every day, and every day I strive to overcome my flawed nature. With mine and others. I know of your struggle, boy. The fact that you stand here, admitting to your flaws and awaiting judgment shows that you have remarkable courage. You have a warrior's spirit." Jur found himself honestly touched by the orc's statements. And a touch misty eyed to be shown such understanding and kindness. It only strengthened his desire to retain these feelings. To closely guard them and never let go. Otherwise, he would be alone and unwanted yet again. Something he could never go back to. Even if he did deserve it.

"So you trust me?" Thrall gave a stern nod, pursing his green lips.

"The Horde strives to overcome its past. As do you. Were I not to trust you, I could not trust myself." A sigh of intense relief left the druid's body. One of his great fears was to be scorned and turned away by friends and those he cared for. Thrall placed his trust in him, and he could never betray that trust as long as he lived. But there was still the matter of Jaina. Despite how much he valued the orc warchief's counsel, Jaina's mattered a lot more. She had saved his life, after all. Freed him, given him another chance. Given him shelter and confided in him when she needed it.

Jaina felt her mouth slightly agape as she looked upon Jur and the orcs with great solemnness. All her life, orcs were known as unfeeling beasts sent to slaughter, rape, and pillage all that they surveyed. Yet, they were intelligent. Capable of reason, empathy, regret. The desire to grow and fix what they had wronged. This new Horde was not like the one they had fought in the First and Second Wars. Yet it did not ease the pain she felt from Derek's death. But could anything ever truly? Her head felt a complete mess from the immense confliction she felt. She was Alliance, they were Horde. They were criminals. But it felt… strange. Like with Jur, there was a whole story here she was missing. Mannoroth, demons. Trusting the Horde would not have been her first or last choice. But this armored orc – this Saurfang – seemed truly remorseful of his past. Of who he used to be. And Jur. Jur had confessed himself of his immense crimes. But he was no monster. Not at all like how the orcs were imagined to be. He was kind, understanding, smart. A good friend she had trusted in helping them in this strange land. As vague as his previous confession was, he still admitted to it. If she could trust him, could she trust the Horde? Yes? No? Maybe? The young mage was still reeling from Arthas' betrayal still. No matter what, she could not catch a break on all the twists and turns life had offered her.

"Do you trust me, Jaina?" His voice shook ever so slightly. Fragile like glass on the verge of splintering. He had been through great turmoil as she had. Only they stood on opposite sides. He the wrongdoer, and she the wronged. He had done wrong, but he was not bad. All her life, her parents had taught instilled within her such a simplistic world view of morality. Black and white, sinners and the innocent. Arthas, Jur, and the Horde. They had all shattered that. What was true, and what was up in the air anymore? The girl let out a tired sigh. Her head ached from all the stress she felt from reflecting upon it.

"I don't like secrets being kept from me," she stated. Jur chewed on his bottom lip and nodded, fidgeting with his hands. He looked so pitiful standing before them to be judged. So tired. "But you've supported us. Tended our wounded, helped build our base, and grow our crops. You gave of yourself willingly to help our cause. Asking for nothing in return." The warm smile Jur had grown to appreciate in the dreary land of Dustwallow returned to her sweet face. "I want to trust you, but I need to know that I can. No more secrets. Understand?"

"Absolutely!" the kaldorei declared, a lot more passionate than he intended. He never wanted to upset Jaina ever again. Any of them, but her in particular.

"Very well," she admitted. "Then I trust you." Jur glanced to the others with an expecting hopeful look.

"And you?" High Priest Rohan cleared his throat and approached him, adjusting his beard.

"Laddie, yeh ne'er steered us wrong before. Yeh always gave your all when workin' with us and always looked to the brighter side of thin's. If Lady Proudmoore be trustin' yeh, then so shall I." Halford Wymbane said nothing, merely giving a curt nod to him. A man of few words, but his simple action spoke volumes. Jur's heart soared with relief and happiness. His awful truth had been made known to the world. Instead of turning their backs to him, casting him aside, they accepted him. Gave him a place to feel part of. But his joy was fleeting as the guilt and sorrow of the past returned. The swiftness that he shifted to in emotions was exhausting as well as sickening. But he had friends and a place to belong. It was something.

"Thank you," Jur uttered softly. "I need to be alone for a bit. To think…" The druid slinked away, ears drooping. The infantry was dismissed to begin setting up a suitable location for the Alliance and Horde to bunker down at. In the coming week, they would press into Ashenvale Forest to free Grom from the demon's clutches. Jaina and Thrall watched Jur climb out of sight to hide from them. Like a wounded animal.

"I feel so sorry for him," Jaina said, a hand held to her chest.

"We cannot help him," Thrall admitted reluctantly. "All we can do is offer our kind words. Only he can overcome his past. As do we all." Jaina nodded in solemn agreement. The orc was a lot smarter than she had expected an orc to be. Though, she supposed she'd be overcoming a lot of misconceptions in the coming days.

"Your name… is Thrall…"

"It means "slave" in your tongue." The mage recounted his words, and the realization of who he was made her stomach squirm.

"You're the child slave you mentioned."

"Yes." Jaina glances away out of guilt. While she lived in luxury in Kul Tiras with her family, Thrall was locked in chains. The guilty deserved to be punished, that much she could not disagree with. But he was a child. Where was the justice in damning a child to incarceration just for the crime of being alive?

"I… am truly sorry," she said, bowing her head.

"No need. You were not responsible." His forgiving words eased her heart and returned the smile to her face. Things really were different than they were many years ago. They all were. Alliance and Horde. And if she was going to uncover one hidden truth, she may as well find another.

"Tell me the truth about the orcs. What were they actually like?" The warchief walked away with her to help aid his men in constructing fortifications. Jaina pulled her weight, using her magic to help forge what needed building. Side to side, back to back, they were getting more done now than they had separately.

All alone on an isolated hill, Jur sat and stared at the sky. The night he once adored offered no comfort now. His heart ached too greatly with grief from the past. His attention shifted to the feeling of a heavy hand resting on his shoulder. The druid looked up to see none other than Cairne, looking down at him with a peaceful smile.

"You know the truth now," he said apathetically. Jur was just too exhausted emotionally to hold emotion in his voice. At this rate, he might just go back to sleep for another millennia to escape the feeling.

"I had suspected." The kaldorei blinked in surprise, turning away from his brooding spot to face the tauren.

"You did?"

"It was a lesser known tale passed down from generation to generation of the War of the Ancients. Though they had never mentioned you by name." Jur sighed, his head drooping in surrender. His legacy in his absence was only a story that detailed what a terrible person he was. "Take heart, young one. You are not limited to your past. This is a new beginning for you. Not many are blessed with an opportunity. The Bloodhoof tribe found their second wind at the hands of the Horde. And you find yours at the hands of this Alliance. The Earthmother blesses those she deems worthy. You should be honored." Jur said nothing. He appreciated the chieftain's words, but were they deserved? Cairne wasn't there. He didn't see or do what Jur had. Only the kaldorei could pass the true judgment on worthiness on him.

But he hoped with all his might such a meeting would never occur. He wasn't sure he could face his former Shan'do again.


End file.
